Donnie Dearest Part Two: The Eppes Strike Back
by theallbadhat
Summary: When the legal system fails to keep Don out of the clutches of a kidnapper, Charlie and Alan take matters into their own hands. Ch. 5 Why they must. Ch.6 Charlie talks to Billy.
1. How We Missed You

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Author's note: Warning- continuing angst. Want a little happiness? Look to chapter 3 as promised. : ) Thanks for the encouragement. Oh, and the Eppes' reactions are based on _my interpretation _of the five stages of grief, according to those identified in _Elizabeth Kubler-Ross_' book, "**On Death and Dying".** I just want to give credit where credit is due, but don't want to put words in her mouth.

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Melinda Thompson led her son into his bedroom. "See Donny- just like you left it."

Don looked around the room.

During the four-hour trip from his daddy's house, he had been wondering if anything would look different when he came home with Mommy, wondering if she would be different.

Wondering about himself.

The recliner was still in the corner, the television was playing a cartoon, and his toy chest was open and overflowing with more toys than he'd had before. He quickly checked the dresser, heaving a sigh of relief that there was no belt sitting coiled on top. Maybe everything would be alright. He knew Mommy could be very nice when she wanted to be. Don walked to his bed and sat on its edge, bouncing a couple times.

It didn't feel as soft as the one at Daddy's house.

Melinda left the room and Don could hear her moving about in the house. It did not take her long to return with his dinner. "Lie down, baby, so Mommy can feed you."

Don stared at the bottle, his stomach rebounding against itself at the thought of having to drink it. When Melinda sat on the bed next to him, he did what he was told and pulled his legs up and over, lying on his side, his face towards her but his eyes closed. He felt her body shift and then she was pulling him against her breast, feeding him. Don didn't refuse her- he did not plan to disobey anything she said. He'd made a deal so his daddy and Charlie could be happy, and he knew it was too late to back out now.

As he sucked the liquid into his mouth, he wondered what his family was eating for dinner.

Maybe they had gone out to eat, something they hadn't been able to do since he had come to them from the institute.

The thought of their freedom to do as they pleased helped ease the tension that had settled in Don's stomach, and he found himself drifting off to sleep, the sound of his mommy singing in his ears.

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"Gordon, I just wanted to thank you for everything that you did for me. I finally have my son." Melinda sat on the recliner in Don's room, unable to take her eyes off of her sleeping child.

Fairfield remained quiet. For some reason, he did not want the gratitude of the woman on the phone. It was much easier to think his behavior had been as an objective attorney, not as a man who been working to pay a debt that, in the aftermath of all they'd done, he now was forced to consider if he ever truly owed it to begin with.

"He's asleep, so beautiful. You should see his eyes, how they look at me- I just know he loves me." Melinda drew up her legs and wrapped her arms about her body, her heart warming.

Fairfield thought about the man they had picked up that afternoon. Don Eppes had looked so sad and forlorn, his entire body sagging as if weighed down with sorrow. The lawyer had turned his face aside. He knew that he had seen sadder victims over the many years that he had practiced criminal law. But somehow, this time, reminding himself of that fact hadn't worked. He found himself pitying the young man as Melinda talked to him, her high-pitched voice running up his spine like the tip of a claw. Fairfield had cursed his own weakness, for feeling sympathy for the man when he should have felt nothing.

Thinking about Don Eppes, Fairfield finally found a voice. "Yes, well whether your son loves you or not has yet to be proven."

Melinda scowled at the phone in disbelief, and then put it back to her ear. "How dare you talk to me"-

"I owe you nothing more," Fairfield told her coldly, "my debt is paid. I've provided you with a son- now it's up to you alone to keep him."

Melinda quickly modified her voice. "Gordon, darling, you know I could not have done this without you. What if I need help in the future? I don't think the Eppes are going to give up yet."

"Well, I guess you'll need to find yourself a good attorney," Fairfield sneered at her through the phone. "As for me- as of this very minute, I've retired."

"Really?" Melinda replied, "I suppose _that_ is the reason you are flying to Kansas?"

Fairfield squeezed his phone, his palms sweaty. How the hell did she find out?

"Don't threaten me- or Caleb," Fairfield said menacingly. "I assure you I am as much a worthy foe out of the courtroom as I am within." He clicked his phone shut before Melinda could reply.

Melinda tapped her phone against her chin.

Without Gordon's help, it would be just her and Donny against the world.

Unsure of their ability to persevere, she called a friend, asking her to recommend a new lawyer.

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At first, they were in complete denial.

Within an hour after coming home from court, Charlie had walked in a stupefied state into his garage, shutting the door behind him and started work on N v. NP, pretending to himself that his brother was going to become impatient with all the time he was spending there and come pull him out- like he had when their mother died.

Like the balloons he'd seen earlier in the day, he had completely flown from reality.

Alan had shakily risen from the floor, saying a few Jewish prayers of loss, lamenting his own. He had collapsed to his couch and wearily fallen into a restless sleep, unable to go to bed without his son's body beside his own. The next day, he decided to take the same route they had been taking, and turned to the legal system for help, denying to himself that his son was permanently gone, that a simple phone call would bring him back to him again.

So he called adult social services in Nevada County, and reported to them that Melinda Thompson was abusing her son. _Well, no, he was calling from Los Angeles, but, uh, her neighbor was a friend of his and he had told him all about it_. Yes, sir, they finally assured him, we'll check into it.

And being in a smaller county, they had the time to do so immediately, finding a smiling Melinda and a shy Don waiting for them. They felt the duty to check Don, and satisfied that he appeared in good condition, left, taking down Melinda's complaint that her son's father lived in L.A. and was just harassing her.

_Of course, Melinda, I mean, Dr. Thompson, we understand. Oh, by the way are you attending the function being held by Judge Addison next week? I don't think I can, but I'll be sure to write him a check_.

Alan called repeatedly throughout the day, when at last he was told that by social services that they would have to report him as a crank if he did not stop.

They had found no signs his son was being abused at his mother's house.

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Megan lifted the binoculars to her eyes and tried to focus on the house next door. She saw no signs of life and shifted her position in the lawn chair in which she sat, hidden behind the house.

There.

She adjusted the optical zoom and found herself focused on Don's face as he came outside, sporting a baseball glove and hat, Thompson behind him with a ball. The binoculars followed the path they took until they settled on the back yard, where Thompson began throwing the ball eagerly to Don- out in the sun, no shade.

Megan frowned.

He shouldn't be out in the sun while he was taking two types of diuretics- it wasn't good for him.

Unless Thompson was no longer giving them to him; Megan suspected that was probably the case and Don could now be out in the sun as much as he was allowed to be.

Megan looked at Don's face.

He did not appear happy. The laugh lines that were so often evident around his eyes had disappeared, despite the appearance of a tentative smile on his lips. He already looked pale and thin to her, causing her to form a fist in anger.

If she could only...

But she forced herself to release the fist and concentrate on just watching Don and Thompson. Making sure there were no physical signs of abuse and that he was doing okay-

-at least as well as could be expected if one were living with a monster.

Megan had been sitting outside the Eppes' home four days before, when the police escort had shown up with Thompson. She had immediately run from her car and inquired, politely, as to what the hell they thought they were doing. At Thompson's insistence, the man had handed Megan the papers that assigned Don to Thompson, and Megan had almost shot the woman right there.

Only, Megan no longer had her gun, so her hand had fallen against the light cotton of her t-shirt rather than the hard steel of her weapon.

That option not open to her, she had been forced to stand aside as _that woman_ had been led into the Eppes' home and allowed to put _her_ arms around Don, Larry losing his temper for the first time since she had known him, using a scathing voice and scientific terms in a vain attempt to prove to the officer that Thompson had escaped from some place deep in the bowels of the earth and made her way to the surface, appearing from under a rock- and it would be a crime against humankind to allow such a creature to possess a fellow being.

But the officer had stood looking at Larry dumbfounded, obviously weighing in his mind whether or not the scientist should be taken to a local hospital for a mental examination.

Megan thought it was the judge who'd given Don to Thompson who should have been subjected to such an exam.

Larry had finally given up, telling Thompson he would gather Don's things for her, receiving a curt no thanks- I have all he needs at home, relenting when Larry handed her Don's medication, something she dared not refuse. Don had put out his arms to Larry, wanting a last hug, and the small man had held him until Thompson demanded they had to leave. At that point, Megan became perplexed, as Don indicated to Larry that he should retrieve something from his front pocket; Larry had put two fingers inside and one by one, pulled out three pieces of chalk, Don saying, "Give to Charlie...he will know."

Megan had stood next to Larry, her arm across his shoulder, and watched as Don was escorted out the door, Thompson behind him. It was at that point Thompson had turned to Megan, her teeth glinting , telling the agent, "_Now _it's over," before abruptly turning away and heading out the door, towards her son.

Larry had gone up the stairs, muttering to himself. Megan had wanted to wait for the Eppes, but realized she could do them no good if she stayed.

Nothing but Don's return would help them.

So, she steeled her heart and walked out the door, walking across the damp sidewalk down to her car, climbing inside, already deciding there was at least one thing she could do.

She could watch Don.

Megan had phoned Bob Anderson, telling the old man what had happened, accepting his words of comfort and asking him if he would mind having a guest for a while.

He'd replied he always loved the company of pretty girls.

Megan had driven home for her own possessions and taken off for Alta Sierra, where she had been settled since Monday evening, because despite Thompson's boastful claim, as far as Megan was concerned-_this was far from over._

After setting up at Bob's, Megan had found the perfect spot to keep watch without being seen herself, but it had felt a fruitless endeavor. Neither Don nor Thompson had made an appearance outside until now. Megan had tried to see into the windows of the house next door, but had been prevented from doing so by heavy curtains and blinds covering each one. Sometime in the afternoon on Tuesday, a person had come to the front door, invited in by Thompson, and then had left within an hour. From the way the person held herself, Megan thought the woman looked like she came from an agency and wondered if it was possible the Eppes had called someone to look in on Don.

Smart move, Megan had thought.

She and Bob had tried calling Alan and Charlie on several occasions, but no one had answered the phone. The only sign they still had service was the sound of their answering machine over the line, their cheerful voices requesting that the caller leave a message.

They hadn't, because there was nothing to say.

Megan made sure she stayed out of sight, sitting in her seat, her eyes on the man next door playing catch with his mother. She did not want Thompson to be aware of her presence; both because she did not want the woman to file a restraining order against her, and because Megan knew that some time in the future she would have to do something to get Don away from her.

But so far, she didn't have any idea what that would be.

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The next thing they did was become angry.

Alan did not attempt to eat anything substantial until Wednesday morning. His mouth felt dry and his stomach ached from the lack of attention it had been given. When he set two plates on the dining room table, he ripped the carousal holding Don's tools from its corner, throwing them across the room. Then he calmly went into the garage, where Charlie continued to work, surrounded by his own inflexible bubble, chalkboards and the remnants of deflated balloons.

Alan told him he had to eat.

Charlie ignored him.

Alan demanded he pay attention to him, he couldn't hide out in the garage forever.

Charlie wrote another number on the board, his hand shaky from lack of sleep and adequate nourishment, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, stubble on his sweaty, dirty face.

Alan walked to him, pulling his shoulder.

Charlie turned and screamed at his father, telling him to leave him alone.

Alan shouted at Charlie, pushing him against a board and forcing the chalk from his hand.

Anger flared between the two men. They reared at each other, standing inches apart, a challenge in their stances.

The wind picked up outside and blew through the cracks in the walls, stirring the air and fragments of balloons, circling Charlie and carrying him away again.

Charlie picked up another piece of chalk and began writing in short, sharp strokes, no longer aware of anything but the board in front of him and the numbers, his father storming out of the garage and back into the house, slamming out the front door to sit on the porch, unconscious of the rain that pounded down at an angle towards him and the house.

Angry.

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The morning of his fifth day with Melinda, Don hadn't argued when his mommy bathed him. He knew he couldn't do it on his own.

And when she powdered him, slipping his special briefs and his regular ones on afterwards, he may have been a little embarrassed, but he hadn't said a word.

He had sat watching television, ignoring the empty feeling in his stomach, blaming it on the fact that he'd only been fed liquids and nothing solid for almost four full days.

When Mommy had said they were going to the park, he had even given her a smile, pulling Buddy close, trying to keep down the hope Charlie would show up there, somehow knowing he wouldn't.

But when Mommy had laid out his clothes, he had stiffened and refused to let her put them on.

"Look like baby," Don complained, moving his arms away from her so she couldn't get him dressed.

Melinda sighed in frustration.

She had been avoiding his lessons, aware the Eppes might call social services on her again. Though the social worker who had called on her had promised to ignore the complaints, having determined they were being placed out of vindictiveness, Melinda felt is was an unnecessary risk at this time to use the belt or the back of her hand to get her son to obey, as she could not avoid leaving marks.

So, she tried to get him to comply with words instead. "Donny, I thought you wanted to go to the park."

"I do, Mommy," he told her. "But not wear that." He carefully used his left finger to point at the clothes.

Melinda sighed again. She had picked out the clothes especially for him to wear, wanting him to look his cutest when she was finally able to take him outside and show him off to the world. It was beginning to anger her that he didn't understand that he had to look just right. Melinda wanted her baby boy to be the center of attention.

"Donny, if you don't let me dress you in the next few minutes, not only will we stay home today, but I'm going to have to take Buddy away, too." She smiled when Don pouted, gripping his friend in his arms. "Well, are we going or not?"

Don stared at the clothes. Other than his special briefs, he had never thought about the way he dressed before. But he had been with Charlie and Daddy for two weeks and he had always worn the t-shirt and jeans his mommy had always dressed him in, nothing else. And that's the way they dressed, so he was sure that was what he should be wearing if he wanted to be a man.

He had never stopped wanting to be one, only he had to keep it secret from Mommy.

Now she wanted to put him in _those_ clothes and he knew he'd look like a baby, because he had never seen Charlie and Daddy wear clothes like that, just some of the little boys he'd seen at the park the other day. Besides, he was sure that everything else Mommy had done for him and given him had been to keep him a baby.

First there were the bottles. Don had known he'd have to drink them when he agreed to come here, but somehow it wasn't like the last time he had lived here. At that time, he had thought he couldn't eat anything else or in any other way; but since then, Charlie had showed him different. So, on the evening of the second day he had been with her, Don had tried to tell Mommy he could eat real food, only she had to put on his special glove and make the food just right. When she'd shaken her head that he'd choke, he had tried to show her how Charlie rubbed his throat.

Mommy had only frowned at him, making him drink two extra bottles, telling him if he was really that hungry, she would provide him with as many of them as he wanted. His stomach had hurt afterward, and he'd lain in bed, tears of frustration forming in his eyes. Later, he had woken up in the middle of the night after having an accident, calling Mommy for help- but she had been angry and did not come, so he had been wet and cold all night. The next morning, she had cleaned up after him, but punished him by taking Buddy away all day, now his only friend once again.

He had spent the day curled up in bed, crying from loneliness, telling himself you can do it, Donny, for Charlie and Daddy.

You're a special agent, doing everything you can for your family and friends.

It was his fault anyway. He was lucky that all she'd done was take Buddy away, as he knew he shouldn't have tried to tell Mommy what to do.

Don stared at the clothes, his arms still around Buddy, silently telling his friend he no longer cared if they went to the park or not. It wouldn't be the same without Charlie and Larry. But Mommy was insistent they had to go and he knew he wouldn't be able to change her mind. His lower lip quivering, not wanting to cry, Don finally gave in and let go of Buddy, carefully sitting on the rabbit so Mommy could not take him away again. He raised his hands above his head and let her start dressing him. Don swallowed twice, trying to cheer himself up by thinking of all the things Charlie and Daddy were probably doing, and all the friends they had coming over so that they could do everything they used to do before they had to take care of him. When Mommy started tying his shoes, Don realized it was not very easy this time to be happy about the freedom Charlie and Daddy had now that he was gone; they had never mentioned wanting to do anything but take care of him, and he found that he could not picture them doing anything else-not even going out to dinner, which would have eased his unhappiness for having left them.

Now that he was no longer concentrating on his exercises and he was not focused on doing activities with his daddy and Charlie, Don's mind had the time to think about that fact.

For the first time, he wondered why his family had never mentioned wanting to do other things.

Before he could go further with that idea, Mommy helped him to his feet, telling him it was time to go. She sent him ahead to the front door, and he stood there sullenly, sucking his thumb. When she appeared with a large bag slung over her arm, Don shrunk inside himself. He didn't know why, but he was sure Mommy was set on showing everyone he was a baby.

But he didn't want anyone to think that.

He was a special agent man, doing what he had to for his family.

Mommy stood outside the door, trying to coax him to come out. Don refused to leave the house, planting his feet so he did not move, ignoring her as she implored him to come out. Don didn't want to leave. He moved back several feet into the house, wondering why, not so long ago, he had wanted to come back here so badly, and now that he was back, why it was he wanted to leave when it had only been a little over four days; but his confused mind couldn't sort it all out. Then Mommy took his hand and pulled him out the door into the sunshine, putting a hat over his head.

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Megan rose that morning with a crick in her neck. Bob had offered her the only bed in the house, but she had refused to take it from the old man. But every morning since then, she had regretted not taking him up on her offer, his old couch comfortable but lumpy, causing her body and limbs to lie at odd angles every night.

She stretched, splashed water on her face and slipped into some shorts and a tank top, pouring a traveler's cup full of hot coffee, her sleepy body thankful he had made it thick and strong.

"Hello, dear," Bob came into the kitchen, "up at your usual time."

"Yeah, I guess that couch is its own alarm clock." Megan smiled at him across her cup.

"You should take the bed; you'd sleep in a more comfortable position..."

"No, definitely no. I've been in worse positions."

Bob smiled at her slyly. "Suspect a pretty girl like you has been in better ones, too."

Megan blew all of her coffee from her mouth. She grabbed a towel and wiped the liquid she'd spat onto the counter, apologizing. Bob just grinned at her.

"I had a daughter long time ago- it may surprise you, but the stork didn't bring her. Was known to be frisky in my day."

"You're a little too frisky for me now, Bob," Megan told him. She topped off her coffee and went outside, sitting at her post. She brought her binoculars to her eyes and stared at the house across the way. It was nearly two hours before she saw movement.

Megan watched as the front door opened, and Thompson appeared. She was talking to someone just inside the door, Megan assuming it was Don. Thompson was beckoning with her hand for almost ten minutes before she gave up and just reached inside, pulling Don after her.

Megan shot to her feet, dropping her binoculars and coffee to the ground. She scrambled to pick the binoculars up and had to turn them over three times until she was positive they were upright. Bob came behind her as she gave a small groan, shaking her head.

Bob asked her what was wrong, but Megan could not answer.

All she could think was, "What the hell is that bitch trying to do to you?"


	2. What She Did To You

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

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The third thing they did was beg.

Alan rose from Don's bed Thursday morning and sat at its edge. He ran his hand along the center of the mattress, feeling coolness where his sons' bodies used to lay and provide warmth. Charlie had not fully slept since Sunday night, taking short naps on the cold cement of the garage, refusing even a blanket or small throw pillow, as if hiding in a dungeon whenever his mind and body shut down and he was no longer receiving solace from his numbers.

Trying to rise, Alan had slipped to his knees from his own lack of any real sleep, his emotions battering into his soul in waves and falling back again, dragging the last dredges of his hope behind it. He twisted his body and rested his forehead on the edge of the bed, pulling lamely at the blankets and began to pray. He told God of all the things he would do if he could only have his son back- the charities he would donate to, the things he would never eat again, the places he would never go, the people he had seen on TV who he would help, the dedication and prayers he would say daily, hourly, minutely- if he could just hold his son safely in his arms again. He tried bargaining with God, changing his offers from one to another as he believed he was receiving no response, finally resting his head on the floorboards and losing his mind to his wailing laments once again.

He was unaware that God had listened.

Charlie was busy writing on his chalkboards, unknowingly having made his own bargain with God.

His solution was simple; he needed to solve P v. NP. The last time Charlie was losing someone in his life, he had been faced with this same challenge. On Monday, when he first began working on this problem again, it had briefly crossed his mind how he had also worked on it while his mother was dying.

And this morning, after he had written down another series of numbers and taken a break that was long enough for him to wipe the sweat from his brow and do nothing else, it had suddenly come to him.

God wanted him to solve this problem.

How could he have not seen that before?

When his mother died, Charlie should have never stopped working on it. So God had taken away someone else he loved, to get his attention back on what He wanted Charlie to do.

This time, Charlie would do it.

He made that unspoken promise to God.

Charlie would trade giving the world the solution of P v. NP in exchange for God giving him his brother.

He thought it was a fair bargain; after all, he was a mathematical genius, and well, God was God- he could do anything.

Now all Charlie had to do was the impossible.

He had to solve that which was unsolvable.

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Don had been comfortable the first day he'd come home with his mommy. He had fallen asleep in her arms and felt comforted. By Tuesday evening, he had already been complaining he wanted real food, not bottles. On Wednesday, he had spent the day alone in his bedroom, his punishment for having an accident. Thursday had been better, he'd not had too much to drink the night before and had stayed dry till Mommy gave him his bath; they had spent the day playing baseball and it had been fun- not like with Charlie and Larry, but enough that he had thought everything would be alright, forgetting the events of the previous day.

It was now Friday and all that hope was going to disappear. Don was entering the park with his mommy, her hand tightly in his. He held his head down, but when he saw there was no one nearby, he felt better than he had when they had first left the house. They went out into an open field and he waited while Mommy put on his special glove. Maybe he could be happy with her again, he thought, as she sent the ball his way.

They played like that for almost two hours, until Mommy said she needed rest. She left to sit on a nearby bench and Don started tossing the ball to himself, up above his head. He hadn't noticed a lot of people had entered the park during the interim; he blithely played, unaware of the presence of others until he heard a child laugh behind him.

Don turned towards the sound, grinning for the first time in days. He remembered the little boy who had played with him in the toy store. When he faced the owner of the laugh, his smile faded away. It was another boy that he faced, only this one was older, just shy of being a teenager, and he wasn't offering a welcome smile to Don- he was clearly laughing at him.

Lowering his eyes to the blue sailor top and shorts his mommy had made him wear, complete with a back flap and red tie, the white anchors on them matching the ones on his cap and socks, Buddy's ears pushed into the top of his shorts so he wouldn't get lost, Don could feel a blush come across his face. He pulled the blue baseball cap down, so low he could barely see, and then he ran over to his mommy, dropping beside her and burying his face in her neck and forcing his arm around her stomach, breathing hard so he wouldn't cry; he just couldn't let that boy see him cry.

Melinda was sitting talking with two other women; they each had a stroller and a baby inside. They had been in the process of exchanging stories when Don had appeared at his mommy's side.

"Ohhhhh," Catherine cried to Melinda. She was a young blond with long hair and a sympathetic smile. "He's so shy."

Melinda smiled, laying her head on Don's. "Yes, he is," she told the young woman, "he always hides when he's around new people or in a new place."

"He's just too sweet," Beth sighed, a young brunette with short hair. "You can see he's special," she said rudely.

Melinda did not take her words at their obvious meaning. She simply thought the woman thought the same as she did- that her little boy was special- unique. All morning, others had let her know the same way, not with words, but with the looks they gave her son.

When she had first sat down on the bench, Melinda had been keeping her eyes on her son. It had not taken her long to realize others were doing the same. In her blissful ignorance, she enjoyed the stares her little boy was receiving. Yes, she told them proudly in her mind, that's my son you see standing over there. She had straightened on the bench, a gleam in her eyes as she watched people walk by, stop and stare, and then look at her, envy clearly in their eyes that they didn't have such a perfect little boy.

When Catherine and Beth sat beside her, Melinda knew it was because they wanted to show off their own babies; but she was sure they would be disheartened when they realized theirs could not compare to the beautiful one she had playing ball in the middle of the park. Melinda had cooed at the women's babies, speaking sweetly of her own. Then Donny had appeared and by the exclamations of the women, Melinda was certain they were aware of their defeat in showing off their little ones- no other child could compare to her little baby boy.

"Go home Mommy," Don mumbled into her neck.

Melinda lifted his hat and kissed him on the temple. "Don't be silly, baby. We've only been here a couple hours."

Don was sure he could hear more laughter from behind him. He pressed against Melinda, almost causing her to fall against the women on her other side. She looked at them, giving a nervous smile when they commented how endearing her son's bashfulness was.

"I know," Melinda said, pulling off Don's hat and running her fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm his fear, "sometimes, though, I'm not sure what to do with him when he's like this."

"Food is always good," Catherine laughed, "I don't know any kid that isn't happy when a piece of candy is put in front of them." Looking at the time, she added, "Speaking of which, it's time for my little one to eat." She and Beth opened their baby bags and pulled out a bottle each, positioning their babies to eat.

Melinda looked at the women. It was close to lunch for her baby, too, and she knew it did tend to calm her son down when she fed him. Melinda had planned to feed him while they were at the park, but hadn't thought about where it would be appropriate to do so. Seeing the women besides her feeding their babies simply where they sat, she decided she would probably not find a more suitable place herself.

Melinda pulled her arm from around her son and faced forward, leaning over to bring her own diaper bag out from under the bench, complete with ducks embroidered into its canvas side. She was aware that Catherine and Beth were staring at her when she opened the bag and grabbed two bottles for her son. While pushing the air out of them, she explained to the women, "He can't chew solid food or hold utensils, so this is the only way he can eat- unless I hooked him to a machine. She added with sadness in her voice, "I would rather go through the trouble of bottle-feeding him than do something like that."

Both women nodded sympathetically, reassuring Melinda she was doing the right thing and that she could feed her son alongside them- they understood and wouldn't be ashamed.

None of the three women took into consideration Don's shame.

Don was still hiding his face, his head almost completely behind the back of Melinda's shoulders.

"Come on, baby. Time for lunch," his mommy whispered at his head.

Don trembled. He lifted his face enough so he could put his lips near his mommy's ear. "No, Mommy," he begged her, "not here." He hadn't been aware of the people staring at him all morning, but he did remember the laughter of the boy. It had just started fading from his ears when his mommy told him he had to eat, and Don didn't know how he knew, but he was positive he would hear the laughter again- even louder than before- if he drank his bottles in front of all the strangers in the park.

"Now, don't be difficult baby," Melinda told him firmly. She maneuvered her body so her left arm slipped behind Don's back and she could pull him forward, his head coming from his hiding place beside her neck. Quickly, she slipped a nipple against his lips and pushed. When he did not open his mouth and tried to move away, she managed to grip Buddy, who continued to hang from his shorts, and give the rabbit a quick tug, letting Don know what would happen if he didn't comply.

Don opened his mouth and began to suck on his bottle, keeping his eyes closed, drinking as fast as he could. He could hear the women sitting with Mommy commenting on what a good appetite he had, making him turn his face and try to hide again.

"Stop fidgeting, baby," Melinda warned, "or you'll make a mess." He stopped moving, not wanting milk stains on his shirt for the rest of the day, because he was sure anyone who looked at them would know what he had done in front of everybody at the park.

And they would laugh at him, just like that boy.

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The fourth thing they did was give up.

Friday night, Alan sat in his recliner in the solarium. He hadn't shaved or showered that day, nor had he eaten. At sometime during the day, he was conscious he had gone to the bathroom. But even that brief sojourn from his depression was soon fading from his memory. A hole had opened up in the ground and he was slowly sinking into it. It was a slide he did not try to counteract. He could have gripped the edges of his mind, tried to hold on to his surroundings.

Alan did neither of these things.

It was easier to slip down the depressive ramp that had been laid before him when the court gave away his son.

So much easier not to fight, to give in to the darkness that was rising before him, a black cloud that enveloped him and was now sealing over the last of his thoughts, so that he was in an empty, lightless hole-

-no beginning, no end.

Just unfeeling nothingness.

Charlie sat on the floor of the garage, crying. He held a chalkboard he'd taken down from its hooks in the ceiling, propping it in front of him and holding its edge with his left hand, sitting cross-legged while he was running fingers up and down its length, marking lines through the white writing up and down the length of its dark, flat surface.

He couldn't solve it.

N v. NP was beyond him.

And he didn't care anymore.

God would never give him his brother back.

And he didn't care anymore.

Don had chosen Thompson after all; let him be with her. What did he care? He was only his brother. He had spent so much time trying to catch Don, why should he spend the rest of his life running after him when it was so obvious he did not want to be caught?

Charlie wiped some chalk from the board, his thumb, damp from his tears, smearing through the numbers.

Stupid judge, he thought childishly, stupid court, stupid laws, and stupid bitch-

but most of all, stupid brother.

Charlie didn't want Don anymore.

After all, Don didn't want him.

Sniffling a flow of tears into his mouth and nose, Charlie cried.

I don't care what happens anymore, Don.

_I don't care_.

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Megan had followed them to the park.

She sat in her car, sunk down low, watching them with her binoculars jutting up just at the bottom of her car window. Luckily, the park had a lot of trees surrounding it. By positioning her car in a far corner, she would not be easily noticed, but she had a clear view straight to Thompson and Don.

Megan was mortified at the way Thompson had dressed Don.

On a three-year old toddler, the outfit would have been adorable.

On a thirty-five year old man, it was just ridiculous.

Megan wondered what the insane woman thought everyone else would think when they saw how she had dressed her grown son. But to her dismay, the woman seemed ignorant of the stares and widened eyes that took in the spectacle that she had made Don into.

What was worse, Don was unaware himself.

That was, until Megan saw a boy stop near Don, who was now playing by himself, and laugh.

She watched as Don scurried to Thompson and hid in embarrassment. Megan gritted her teeth, ripping another nail as she could plainly see Thompson was still clueless as to the way people were reacting to the way Don was dressed.

Then she saw Thompson pull out two baby bottles, clearly intent on feeding them to Don. And Thompson's little controlling move of shaking Buddy to make Don drink them, clearly a threat, did not escape Megan's perceptive eyes.

Dammit! Megan thought. Why the hell didn't I bring a camera? Anyone but the two idiots sitting next to Thompson had to be able to see Don's discomfiture and shame at being bottle-fed in public, emotions Megan was sure a good camera would capture.

Megan continued to watch, deciding she would try to reach Charlie and Alan the first chance she had. She wanted to let them know that Don was physically fine, but that they needed to come up with a plan to get him away from Thompson. Maybe take turns snapping pictures of them together in public.

Surely a judge would remove him from her care if they were able to present pictures of that shameful mistreatment of hers.

As Megan continued to watch Thompson's interactions with Don, she found herself groaning.

How much humiliation could one person take?

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After feeding Don, Melinda saw how Catherine and Beth pressed their babies' stomachs to release their gas. She knew about these things, but was still unsure what would be appropriate in public; so she took her cue from the women next to her and decided to follow their lead. Looking at Don, whose head was hidden behind her neck again, Melinda briefly thought about the physiology of the human body, knowing the right spot to press; she laid her right hand into position against Don's body and pressed firmly several times, pleased when she heard slight escapes of gas come from his mouth, ignoring the way he tried to hide his face further down her back and impossibly squeeze his torso behind her own.

Melinda looked back at the two women, watching as they checked their babies for dampness. She faced Don again.

Don tried whining to go home again, but Mommy had her hand on his stomach and his words were suddenly cut off when he burped, making him ashamed so much that he buried his face further from his surroundings. Confusion had free reign in his mind- he didn't think anything was really _wrong _with what he was doing. He might not like drinking bottles and wearing clothes that only babies did, but he was trying to obey his mommy and be a good little boy- what could be wrong with that? His emotions were telling him otherwise- that it was _wrong _because he wasn't a baby; Charlie had promised him that.

Don was starting to favor his emotions, the scale tipping towards their side when he felt Mommy's hand slip up into the right leg of his shorts and over, probing the front of his special briefs, Don aware that they were sitting only inches from two strange women and out in public, where everyone could see. He wanted to hide completely behind Mommy, because he believed all the people in the park now had to know he wore special briefs.

The imaginary laugh of the boy sounded in Don's ears again.

Melinda looked around for a bathroom. Her baby hadn't had another accident, but he had been sweating and his briefs were damp; she was concerned the dampness rubbing against her son's private area could cause him to get a painful rash.

This she wanted to avoid.

When she located the bathrooms set on either side of a small pavilion, she excused herself and stood up with her diaper bag. She put Don's hat back on his head and tugged his arm. He immediately got up, staring at the ground, thinking they were headed home.

Melinda approached the men's washroom with Don in tow. She yelled inside and when she received no response, she entered on her own, a look of disgust on her face when she saw how dirty it was. Back outside, she pulled Don to the women's bathroom and gave another call. No response and she dragged Don in behind her. Once inside, Don lifted his eyes enough so he could look around, aware they had not headed back to the car. A woman appeared from a stall, saying "Oh!" when she saw Don. He heard his mommy whisper something, and then the woman nodded at Don, washed her hands and left.

Don shook his head and tried to leave.

"Not this one," he said. This was not where Charlie had taken care of him when he took him to the park.

He stood still when he heard Mommy harshly say, "Not this one, _what_?'

Don licked his lips and avoided her eyes, whimpering, "Mommy."

"Now, baby, don't give me a hard time. I've seen all the mommies come in here today to change their babies." She pulled off his cap and forced his chin up. "Open your eyes and look." When Don obeyed her, she showed him the changing station. "See, if I wasn't supposed to take care of you in here, why would they place this here?"

Don couldn't argue with her. He didn't know why Charlie had changed him in the bathroom for men when it seemed he should have been changing him in the women's, which did have a place for his mommy to place all of his things; it would have made it easier for Charlie to take care of him, but his brother had still done a good job despite the lack of it.

Melinda pried open her bag and set out Don's personal things, taking Buddy from Don and sticking him next to them. She directed him to a stall, pulled down his shorts and two sets of briefs, then waited until he was finished before leading him to the changing station, where she took off his special briefs, threw them away, and opened some ointment.

During those times over the past three months that Don had been without clothing, he had not been aware of his own nakedness for almost the entire time.

But his brother's insistent on giving him dignity had changed that awareness, though neither Charlie nor Don had known it.

Charlie had been refusing to let but a few people see Don naked, out of respect and love for his brother. Don had not really paid attention to that fact. He had been doing what Charlie told him to do and if Charlie had decided to undress him in front of city hall, Don would not have said a word.

But Don's brother had not chosen to do that.

Instead, he had quietly told Larry he should leave the room when Don needed to be undressed in the locker room at the institute. And from the time he'd had his first accident, all except twice, Charlie had been the one to care for Don's personal needs, implying to Don that he had even kept them hidden from even their father. The previous Saturday, Charlie had made sure to keep others from the area in which he was caring for Don, again directing Larry to give them privacy.

All these things Don's mind had registered and filed away, though it did not alert his consciousness to them.

Until now, when his mommy stood in front of him, starting to rub ointment on his most personal area, and Catherine and Beth walked in.

They stared at Don, and he was suddenly self-conscious, aware that he should not be naked in front of strangers, especially not two women, his face blushing. They stared at him briefly, and then shrugged their shoulders, lugging their strollers into the bathroom.

"No problem," they told Melinda, "we understand he's special. Do what you need to do- we can wait till you're done to use the changing station."

Melinda smiled at the young women. They were so nice and understanding. Turning back to her son, she squeezed out more diaper rash medicine and began to smooth it in.

"Excuse, me," Catherine said behind her. Melinda straightened up from her task. "I don't mean to tell you what to do," Catherine continued, stepping forward in front of Don. "But really, it goes in much better if you use a circular motion. If you don't mind?"

Melinda handed the young woman the cream, feeling satisfied that she and her baby had been so readily accepted by their fellow mommies, that they had been able to discuss and compare notes about their children, just like she had always imagined it would be.

Catherine squeezed out some cream and used her fingertips to work it into Don's skin and nether regions, explaining, "See, it goes in real good like this- then you don't have to worry about excess leaking out the sides of his diaper."

Don wanted to hide, doing the closest thing he could by putting his hands over his face.

"Ah, he's shy," Beth said from across the room. "I bet he doesn't want us looking at him."

Catherine glanced up at Don and gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry- I have a little boy, too. I put this stuff on him all the time."

Don didn't hear what she was saying.

It was impossible to hear a thing over the laughter he heard sounding in his ears once again.


	3. What We Decided To Do About It

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

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Mommy let Catherine put on his special briefs and dress him the rest of the way because Catherine said she could show her how to make them fit the best.

When he was dressed, Mommy hung Buddy from the band of his shorts again- _oh he looks so cute with that rabbit_-led him to the side of the bathroom and told him to stay; she talked to Catherine and Beth while they took care of their babies, comparing Don to their little ones.

Don kept his face hidden behind Buddy, trying not to cry from shame.

_Not a baby, not a baby, not a baby._

He could tell he wasn't like their babies.

They couldn't talk and they drooled and couldn't hold anything. They couldn't even walk. Don had always known what a real baby was like, but he had never thought to compare himself to them until he had come face to face with these two.

And no matter what Mommy had told him about all the things he couldn't do that made him a baby, for the first time Don could really see all the things he _could _do that made him a man.

A special agent man, just like Charlie had told him he was.

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Megan was lying back in the seat of her car, staring up at the ceiling.

She just couldn't watch anymore.

Thompson taking Don into the women's bathroom with that stupid diaper bag had been almost too much to stand.

But not as bad as watching those two idiot women drag their babies in moments later.

Megan could tell they had seen Thompson take Don in there.

It angered her, because they had actually looked curious, talking as if debating whether they should go inside or not, probably deciding it might be interesting to see what Thompson and Don were doing.

To see the 'freak' show, Megan cursed.

She flipped open her phone, angrily stabbing the memory number for Charlie and Alan's house. When she once again received the answering machine, her temper was uncontrollable.

"I've been calling four days now and you haven't called back once. Where the hell are you guys? Come on already- I know you're upset, but Don still needs you…Alan…Charlie. Please- will you just call?"

Megan clicked the phone shut. She swallowed, took a deep breath- took another one, sat up and put the binoculars up again. Megan watched as Thompson exited the bathroom, talking animatedly to the two younger women; when she finished saying goodbye, she took Don's hand and led him away, apparently not seeing the brunette rolling her eyes behind her back, both women covering their mouths and giggling.

Megan made a mental note to return here in the future.

If those women were about again, she'd find some way to put them in their place.

For now, she needed to concentrate on Thompson, who was heading to her car and was getting ready to drive away.

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Don sat on his bed, waiting for Mommy to return with his dinner.

He thought again how big and soft his other bed had been.

Buddy lay beside him and he took the rabbit in his arms, giving him a kiss, keeping his lips pressed to the rabbit's head, trying to feel the smooth warmth that he had always felt when he'd kissed Daddy. But the rabbit was furry and cold, not like Daddy at all, so he put him down by his side, grateful for the company but far from satisfied.

Mommy came in with his bottle and he lay down obediently, drinking. He put his head near her chest and listened to her heart. It wasn't strong like Daddy's; he could barely hear it through the light fabric of her shirt. When Mommy started singing, for the first time he noticed how scratchy her voice was- really, quite irritating. Charlie didn't sing perfect but his voice was soft and friendly, soothing.

Don tried to think of other things, but he couldn't help it- Daddy and Charlie kept coming to his mind.

The day had been the worst one he could remember having in a long time. He had felt the same way he did the first time he had tried to eat here at Mommy's house- worthless, because everyone who had seen him had to believe that he couldn't do anything for himself.

He never felt that way with Charlie. He made him feel like he did a whole lot of things. Don thought of all the exercises he had been doing, missing his eating tools while he sucked in more liquid, which really didn't taste good, even though it was strawberry and used to be his favorite flavor.

The chalky liquid didn't taste anything like cherry suckers and Popsicles.

And it had been so horrible to have that strange woman touch him, especially _there,_ and take care of things only Charlie or Mommy were supposed to.

Yet, it had been Mommy who had let the woman touch him, even when he hid his face and she had to know he didn't want her to.

Why did Mommy do that? Don wondered, unable to sleep. He knew Charlie would never let someone touch him like that.

"Do you want another bottle, baby," he heard his mommy ask.

"No, Mommy," he replied. He found he did not even want to hear her voice, puzzled why hearing it no longer made him feel warm inside like it used to; Don involuntarily shivered.

"Oh, baby, are you cold?" He felt her fingers vigorously rubbing his arms, feeling her nails skate across his skin, unable to generate heat.

Something was wrong, Don just knew it.

He had known he'd miss Daddy and Charlie when he came here, so that wasn't quite it.

And he had been afraid Mommy would hit him- but she hadn't, not one time, so that wasn't the problem.

Nothing here had really changed. Except going to the park today, everything was the same.

Don tried to figure out what was bothering him, what was nagging at him and making all the familiar aspects of his life with his Mommy seem so different when they really weren't.

The answer was somewhere at the edge of his reasoning, waiting for him.

But it was still too far to reach.

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Melinda sat in her kitchen, carving a thin line down the center of her table with a single fingernail.

She was thinking along the same lines Don had been, right before he fell asleep.

Something was wrong, only she could put her finger right on it whereas it was something he couldn't even touch.

Melinda had left her son with the Eppes for far too long. She hadn't thought a mere two weeks would affect him so much, yet it apparently had.

This would not do.

She tapped her fingers on the table, debating the situation.

Fairfield, the smart lawyer he was, had been correct when he told her it would be up to her alone to keep her son. The law might keep him at her house, but only she could recapture his heart.

Recapture, she thought angrily, the heart the Eppes had stolen from her a second time. It had never been enough to possess her son's body- she had always wanted to be his Mommy completely and she had been for almost two months. Then he was away a few measly weeks and all her work seemed to be falling apart.

Her tapping became harder and harder.

She could almost physically measure the distance that was between her and her son again. When she lay next to him, she tried to pretend he was cold when he shivered; but it was hard, because she could see the way he kept his body just a little bit away from her own, as if she was the cause of his shivering and the slight separation would make it stop. Every time she touched him, she felt as if he was physically drawing away from her, making her heart ache.

His subtle reaction to her touch was not the only problem. He had asked to eat regular food the second night he was home, and it had thrown her off-schedule. Melinda had assumed he would start to show some signs of oppositional behavior, but not that soon. She had been angry but lacked the necessary devices to teach him properly that he should not bring up his false family; so she had improvised, calmly forcing extra liquid down his throat to make his stomach feel the ill-effects of that behavior. And she had refused to go to him when she heard him cry for her later that night, certain if he showed some other adverse behavior she might hit him- something she could not risk doing at the time with social services having just showed up on her door hours before.

But they hadn't been back since.

When she saw what had occurred during the night, she took Buddy away the next day as punishment for doing something she herself had caused; she knew it would benefit her if her son was confused about exactly what was expected of him for a few days. It would make him more anxious and more ready to comply, scrambling to please her until she made the rules clear to him once again.

Melinda coolly thought about her options.

Her son did not smile at her the way she wanted him to. At least once a day, he asked to do an activity that she recognized were so-called rehabilitative exercises. And sometimes, he asked about things she was sure had to be memories of his first, false mother; Melinda had brushed aside the questions, but knew they could only mean trouble. Even at the park today, he had been disobedient, almost embarrassingly so; if those two other women hadn't been so understanding, Melinda was certain they would have been horrified at her son's whining and complaining. The day would have been much better if he had simply, quietly done what he was told.

Donny remembered too much. Not really facts or places or things or events.

What he remembered was worse.

It was clear her son remembered the love of his first family and she had always known there was only one way to combat that.

Melinda sighed.

She no longer had the electro-convulsive therapy machine.

At first, it had seemed as if it would be difficult to buy another one now that there were probably many eyes watching all her moves; but the new lawyer she had hired seemed to have even less morals than Fairfield had, so she now knew it would be easy to find someone to purchase one that could not be traced back to her.

At least, that was what he had promised her when they had talked earlier that evening. Still, she would have to wait; having done so for thirty-five years and everything so close to being perfect, it would be a difficult thing to do.

But she always had control of herself, so she would wait once again.

So that left the matter of her son's disobedience.

He was already conditioned to respond to the belt. And he still had Buddy. That problem would be must easier to solve and would be immediate. With all the disobedient behavior her son had been exhibiting, and social services promising to leave her alone, Melinda decided it was finally worth the risk to use the belt.

Melinda got up from the table and went into her bedroom, going to her closet and moving aside several items hanging on the rack before pulling a long, thick belt from the closet. It was an exact duplicate of the one her son had worn when he had first come to her. She stepped quietly down the hall and silently opened her son's bedroom, coiling it on the edge of his dresser. Then she gently kissed him before going to bed.

Lessons would have to begin first thing in the morning.

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Don said "Yes, Mommy" all day Saturday.

When he woke to the presence of the belt on his dresser, he lay on his back to protect his posterior. Somehow he had not been obeying Mommy. He thought real hard, trying to figure out what he could have been doing wrong, but he could not come up with anything.

Don also didn't understand what he had done wrong the first time she started to count. They'd been playing with blocks on the floor and she had started to put some on top of each other; all he had wanted to do was show her how well he had been doing his exercises at Charlie's and that he could pick up a block by himself, which he did, and then she frowned at him, grabbing the belt and sitting on the recliner, surprising him so much that it took him almost thirty seconds to respond. He had pulled down his pants and let her belt him, saying "Yes, Mommy" in response when she explained to him that doing something without permission was the same as saying no. Don didn't understand why it was wrong to practice picking up the blocks; he always got a reward when performing the task for Charlie, but he obeyed, letting her set up the blocks for him and not moving until she said he could.

He didn't understand the second or the third or the fourth or fifth time she'd belted him, either.

First he didn't answer her the way she wanted him to when she asked a question, and another time she saw him use his fingers to try to twist the doorknob to his room, and then she became angry when he went to the front windows and was looking outside, using his left thumb and index finger to pull on the string to the blind, surprised himself when it raised.

The last time she'd hit him the hardest.

Remembering all the nice things Daddy and Charlie had told him about her, Don had asked if she'd play him some music. When she'd hit him, she told him it was for talking without permission to speak, which confused him, because he didn't think that was one of the rules.

By evening, he was just sore and aching, curled up in a ball and quietly crying, asking Buddy what had happened- what was he doing wrong? But Buddy didn't respond and Don didn't really want to talk to him anyway. So it was silent in his room when Mommy came in with his dinner. She dropped the bottles at the side of his bed and left again, having forgotten some baby wipes for his face and leaving to search for some in the kitchen.

Don pulled himself up from his prone position on the bed, wincing from the weight of his body on his raw bottom, and looked down at the bottles dropped on the floor. He took in their shape. They were like some of the blocks Charlie had him pick up to help him learn to hold things. Spontaneously, Don decided to do something that he knew was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. He was curious and missed the challenges his exercises had given him, so he decided to overcome a challenge he came up with all on his own. Sitting gingerly on the edge of his bed, he leaned over and tried to grasp a bottle, pleased when he found it was easy to set his palm around the wide cylinder and lift it to his mouth.

All of a sudden and all on his own, he was feeding himself; he didn't even need his special feeding tools. Don was so satisfied with his accomplishment he didn't notice Mommy come into the room until her hand was on his shoulder and she was pushing him back, flipping him over and forcing him to lie on his stomach. He let the bottle drop from his lips as he stared up at her angry eyes. Then she pulled down the top band of his briefs and raised her hand to hit him, the belt lifted over her head.

Only Don hurt too much from his other beltings and he instinctively raised his left hand to stop her arm as it came toward him.

And was shocked when he did.

Don and Melinda both stared with wide eyes at his hand lightly gripping but firmly stopping the forward motion of her lower arm. Don swallowed nervously. Melinda made as if to move her arm away from him and Don tried to stop her a second time.

And he did.

Neither person moved for what seemed an eternity. Then Melinda made one last attempt to pull her arm free, but Don was quicker. He squeezed his fingers and thumb together as hard as he could and was just able to maintain his grip.

They were at a standstill.

Finally, Melinda told him, "Let go."

Don didn't want to let go.

He had known since he had come to live here something wasn't right. It had been impossible for him to figure out what was different about his home here with his mommy and now he knew one thing that had changed.

It was him.

Don realized he wasn't the same person anymore.

When he'd been with his mommy before, he _had_ been a baby, needing her to do everything for him.

He wasn't like that anymore.

Don thought about this.

He had come here so that his daddy and Charlie wouldn't have to take care of him and so that Mommy could. It had never occurred to him there was a third option- that maybe he could learn to do things on his own while he was here, and then when he could take care of himself, he could go live with Daddy and Charlie again.

Don smiled.

He was a special agent man, doing what he had to for his family. But just because he had to be here didn't mean he had to let Mommy hit him or that he had to let her do everything for him. He'd never been strong enough to stop her before, but now he obviously could.

And that power felt good.

Don kept his hand around Melinda's arm and wiggled over onto his back and facing her, his shift in position and his grip on her arm drawing her upper body nearer to him. Putting out his right hand, he pushed himself into a sitting position and unintentionally scowled at her, his right hand loosely clenching. He watched as something new appeared in her eyes- if he was correct, Don was sure he was seeing fear.

He licked his lips nervously and turned his eyes toward the belt his mommy still clutched in her hand. His right hand clenched again. Don thought of all the physical pain that belt had caused him- in this house and in his dreams. Each time, it had been held by Mommy.

After turning to look at her again, he knew it was definitely fear that she was feeling; he could see it now spread across her face.

Don loosened his right fist.

He knew that hitting his mommy would not make him feel like a man.

But he knew that stopping her from hitting him did.

Still gripping her arm, he told her, "Don't hit me."

Don watched as his mommy slowly nodded her head. Daring to be bold, he told her a second request. "No more bottles."

She nodded her head again.

Don released her arm and watched as she scurried from the room, dropping the belt on his bedroom floor during her flight to escape. His momentary braveness swooshed out of him and he clamored into the corner of his bed, drawing his knees to his chest and sucking his thumb, wondering why he was such a bad boy and trying to comprehend what he had just done.

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Melinda sank into the kitchen chair, nervously tapping her fingers.

She had made a big mistake and since she had yet to make more than a few tiny ones, it was worrying her because she was not prepared.

Her son had been eating solid food for at least two weeks and he had regained much of his strength.

It would be impossible to physically control him now.

She got up and started to pace.

At the rate he was changing, he would have forgotten all of his lessons within weeks- maybe even days, making his previous therapy sessions work done in vain.

This would not do.

It would be much too long before she could get the ECT machine and start his new therapy sessions. By then, too much damage would have been done.

Melinda forced herself to calm and regain control of her emotions. It took less than a minute for her to do so, and then she leaned against the kitchen counter, her mind coldly calculating as she again thought about her options.

She needed to continue using the belt; it had been too effective in his previous training. But in order to use it, she needed to find a way to keep him physically weak. Keeping nourishment from him was a method she had used before, but in his current condition, he could just walk into the kitchen and drink as many supplements as he wanted; she had seen the skill with which he utilized his thumb and index finger to grip and point, and it would not take him long to figure out how to pull the tab on one of the supplement cans in order to get his fill.

There had to be some way to fix this.

It was clear that she needed an immediate way to get him physically under control. No ECT machine and no stun gun- both were gone. Melinda thought about all of her supplies- she had kept him sedated before but had not thought to restock her supply because she didn't think he would have been openly resisting her so soon. She needed to get some more, but she couldn't do that and leave him here by himself; who knew what he would do next. Melinda almost thought herself stuck when she suddenly remembered the only items she had brought from the Eppes. She smiled when she realized her son had his own prescription for sedatives and they were currently in her kitchen cabinet. She could sedate him for the night and travel to the nearest hospital at which she still had access to move about freely and without raising anyone's suspicions; there, she could restock her supply of sedatives, taking an ample amount so she could keep her son under control until she could start his new sessions. Taking a look at her watch, she knew it would best to get started; the hospital was almost two hours away and making her little road trip would take half the night.

Melinda opened up two cans of supplement, pulled out a mug and her son's sedatives, setting about preparing her brew. She ground an adequate amount of the pills between the back and front of two spoons pressed together, filled the mug halfway with liquid, dumped in the now-powdery medication, and then topped it off with a second can of supplement, stirring the mixture thoroughly.

When she took the drink to her son, she was smiling again.

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Don hid in the corner of his bed until his Mommy came in. He pulled forward hesitantly when he saw her enter with a smile on her face and the mug in her hand. When she offered it to him, Don returned her smile. Mommy finally understood he could do some things on his own and she wasn't mad at him because he had stopped the belt. Maybe she could also see that he wasn't the same anymore- that he wasn't a baby.

Don scooted to the end of the bed and sloppily began to drink the liquid, spilling some on his shirt. He raised nervous eyes to his mommy, but relaxed when she didn't seem to care that he had made a little mess. My fault she's been angry today, he thought, should have showed Mommy earlier what Charlie had taught me to do. She was probably scared I would choke if I held the bottle on my own. Don finished the last of the drink, leaning his head all the way back to get the last of it from the bottom of the mug-

And fell back against the bed, the room fuzzy.

Don's eyes drooped shut; he forced them back open again, as wide as possible in an attempt to keep them open, shaking his head back and forth against the blanket until he felt a headache start in his right temple, which made him stop. He tried to rise up, but found he no longer had the energy to move, the mug stuck over his right hand and landing by his side, the remains of its contents pooling beside him. Don blinked rapidly. Mommy was in front of him and still smiling. He smiled lazily in return. Her hand was under his legs and he felt her lift them, moving them over onto the bed and positioning him properly on the bed.

Don sighed dreamily.

He was content. Until he felt the coolness of a nipple against his lips and he tried to pull away. It was an impossible task. Don tried to lift his hand and push at it, but this time, he found himself without the strength to move Mommy's arm. Wearily, his limbs dropped and he found himself sucking in liquid that was pouring into his mouth unbidden, sleep soon overcoming him.

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It was dark.

Don couldn't see clearly, the shadows in the room seeming to move at odd angles. It was very dark in the room, and it must also be hot, because he was sweating. He was afraid, so he clung to Buddy, his eyes blearily searching around the room, his mind foggy and unable to recall and process the events that had occurred before he had fallen asleep. After licking his lips, he tried to cry out for his mommy, but found his voice hurt. He'd had a nightmare and had been screaming on and off for over an hour, but nobody had come in response to his cries- nobody to rub his legs or massage his back or to sing him a song or say nice things. His thumb went into his mouth and he started to cry, his body shaking from the effort.

_I want to go home._

That thought breaking into his mind caused Don to understand what had really been that something not right that he had been feeling ever since coming to Mommy's house. Nothing had changed here- not even Mommy. He had changed, but in his heart, he knew that wasn't the main problem.

Now he knew the answer.

Is not my home, he said to Buddy.

Charlie and Daddy were.

Don cried harder, the tears dripping down even as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He didn't care about being a special agent man and if Daddy and Charlie had to miss out on going places and their friends and their jobs because they had to take care of him; he was no longer concerned about convincing Mommy he was a big boy and could do things on his own- he knew he would never convince her, because she had fed him the bottles even after he showed her he could eat on his own. He felt his special briefs sticking to his skin and realized it didn't matter if he had to wear them or not, or if Charlie had to feed him and Daddy had to shave him. He didn't even care if Mommy hit him over and over again. A momentary feeling of shame rushed through him for not being strong enough to stay here with Mommy so Charlie and Daddy could be happy. But it soon passed and he didn't care anymore about anybody else.

Don was a sobbing little boy who just wanted to go home.

As his tears ran out, Don calmed enough so he could think again. He thought about Charlie and everything they had done together. His brother had taught him lots of things. Trying to focus his mind, Don remembered the numbers his brother had made him memorize, making him practice punching them on the phone every morning, telling Don if he ever needed him that he was to use them and he would come take care of him.

Mommy had a phone. He could put the numbers in her phone and let Charlie know he needed him.

Then that something not right would be okay again.

Don found it was hard to move. He tried to rise out of the bed and found himself on the floor. There he rested before he made to move again. Panting, he realized he'd lost Buddy. His hands groped in front of him but he could not find him. He had to leave his friend, but he promised him he would return. Don pushed his body up so he could move on his hands and knees, crawling until he was stopped by the door. He loosened his limbs and dropped to the floor, falling on his side.

He rested again.

Don pushed his feet until his head touched the wall, rolled over on his back and squinted, trying to make out the doorknob somewhere over his head. A black blob spun around above his face; slowly, he reached for it, only knowing when he had it in his left hand when he could feel its hard, smooth surface against his palm. He bent his right arm and pushed up with his elbow while tugging on the doorknob at the same time, the movement ending with his body propped up against the wall next to the door and his left hand still encircling the knob.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, resting.

Don pulled his legs up to his chest and then pushed with his feet, sliding up the wall, balanced by his grip on the doorknob. He opened his eyes and immediately closed them again, the room swaying at dizzying speed. Don flipped over onto his left side so he could face the door, both hands on the doorknob. Panting from the effort, he put all of his effort into gripping the knob with his left hand, holding it in place with the pressure of his right palm firmly on top of it- and twisted his hands up and forward, then pulling out.

The door came open a crack.

He released the knob, shut his eyelids and rested.

Unseeingly, Don moved his right hand along the wall and slipped it into the small opening that he had made, pushing the door open into his room. He fell through into the hallway beyond, the momentum of his falling body propelling him against the far wall, where he landed-_oomph_. His head began to hurt badly. He listened for Mommy, but did not hear a sound, sensing he was alone. Breathing in shallowly, he felt his way along the wall till he could feel it end, leaning his shoulder against it the whole way to support his tired body. Ignoring his various bodily pains, he tried to remember where Mommy kept the phone, picturing the living room in his mind.

Next to the couch, he thought.

Dropping harshly to his hands and knees, Don crawled to the couch and laid the back of his head on the edge of a couch cushion, letting his body slink to the floor while he allowed his eyes to open and he tried to make out the table where he had last seen the phone. He scanned along the couch and up over its edge, finding the coffee table sitting just where he remembered it would be.

The phone was right on top of it.

Don climbed onto the couch and slid and wiggled and pushed and pulled across to the phone. It was just like the one he had practiced on at home.

_Home, _he thought again, _I want to go home._

He slipped his fingers under the receiver, trying to bring it to his mouth, but it fell on top of the cushion in front of him. Ignoring this slight setback, he concentrated on punching in the eleven numbers Charlie had made him memorize. When he finished, Don laid his head on the couch with his mouth near the talking end of the receiver, pulling his legs up under him, exhausted.

Don almost fell asleep, but the sound of his father and brother's voices coming through the other end of the receiver called to him.

"_Charlie?" _he began.

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The last thing he did was accept the situation for what it was.

Charlie stayed in his bubble.

On Saturday morning, he left his garage and went upstairs, taking the first shower he'd had in almost a week, shaving and putting on a fresh set of clothes. He went down to the kitchen and made himself a large breakfast, eating hungrily and cleaning up afterwards.

He left the kitchen and headed back to the garage, passing by his father on the living room couch. Charlie did not notice Alan sitting there; he did not see the hole his father had fallen into, the depression that was folded over him and constricted him from movement, that had left him ragged and weak, unable to respond to others around him.

Charlie stayed in his bubble.

He spent all of Saturday working on his numbers, breaking out two new boxes of chalk and gleefully stringing together various algorithms and equations and number sentences and symbols and formulas...

And numbers, hundreds of numbers scrawled across his boards.

Charlie continued to float.

He was in his bubble, far away from everyone, surrounding by circling numbers, some loose and by themselves, some numbers tied to others and forming long strands of information that only Charlie could decipher and pull apart and put together again, all written on long black strands of ribbon. He bounced within his own little sphere, free from the world and the constraints of gravity, grabbing at the ribbons and pressing them into place on the blackboard in front of him. Charlie tipped forward and spun head over feet, snatching a set of numbers and attaching it to his growing formula, flew through the air and caught another ribbon, placing it next to the first, and then leaning back to float on his back, looking up and finding a third piece to the problem he was working on, pulling its tail down and putting it neatly in place on the board in front of him.

Around and about he went, spinning in his bubble.

When it was late at night, his antics slowed and the numbers began to stop their swirling. Charlie bounced up and down as he exited the garage, the numbers carrying him through the solarium and into the living room.

He was buoyant.

_Ring._

He was hovering high above the world.

_Ring._

He was a bobbing orb, untouchable.

_Please leave a message..._

He was a balloon, carried by the wind.

"_Charlie?"_

POP!

"_It was an...an...acc'dent...Char-lie...I didn't mean...mean to...mean to do it...please, Charlie...come take care me...Please, Charlie...want to come home..."_

Silence.

"_Dad-dy?"_

Charlie was on the ground, literally.

He had sunk to the floor, deflated, his body shriveled and his arms lying limply about him, legs bent with his knees in front of him, his loose shoelaces slinking onto the floor. Charlie was so attached to his surroundings he felt as if his toes were growing into roots and pushing their way into the floor to hold him in place.

He could not move as he listened to his brother cry for help.

Cry for him and his father.

Charlie put his head in his hands and cried himself. He sat there, tied to the spot, while his brother's voice unwound through his mind over and over, chasing away every number that had nestled there, even in its farthest corners. When it was completely freed, Charlie swiped his face with the palms of his hands and focused his brilliant mind on his brother.

He stood up with purpose and went to the phone, hitting star 69 to get the number, frowning when he dialed it and received a busy signal. Charlie replaced the receiver on the phone and sat at the bottom of the stairs.

He thought about _his_ options.

He could call the twenty-four hour number for adult social services and play his brother's message to them. But his father had already tried calling them to no avail, and the message didn't indicate Don was being abused- just that he missed them. Charlie thought about their attorney, Harvey Johnson. According to him, there was no legal course of action they could take except to appeal the court's decision- and most likely, they would lose. Even if they did eventually win, Don would be with Thompson for the duration of the trial and even if it was a short period of time, even a second more than necessary was too long. Don needed to be out of her house tonight, and Charlie knew that left him with only one option.

With a goal now firmly planted in his mind, Charlie easily formulated a plan as to what preparations he needed to make. As he turned to go upstairs, he became aware of his father's presence in the living room. He walked over to his father, whose eyes stared out emptily across the room. Charlie ran a hand down his face in reassurance, though he received no indication that his father had felt the soft gesture.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Charlie told him and raced out the front door, pulling their car out into the street and then backing it into the driveway, popping open the trunk and running into the house once again. Up the stairs to his dad's bedroom and dragging five large suitcases down the hall to Don's, dodging between three bedrooms, quickly filling up two suitcases with clothes for himself, Don, and his father; then to the bathroom, grabbing personal care items as well as everything Don needed to be bathed and cared for and packing them into a third suitcase, then down the stairs with all three, back up again to grab the last two and back down again, setting them out in the solarium. Charlie filled them with every assistive device he thought Don might need and as many activities that he could reasonably take with, darting out to the kitchen to grab his medication- not finding it and taking whatever assistive tools he thought necessary, stumbling upon Don's eating utensils in the corner of the dining room where Alan had thrown them several days before. Charlie ran through the house, checking for anything that he might have missed, grabbing the items as he saw fit, somehow managing to get everything he chose into the luggage.

When all five suitcases were finally filled and Charlie was satisfied they had all that they needed, he loaded them into the trunk of their car, sliding in his laptop and Don's personal carrying case along beside them. After he slammed the trunk of the car, he made two last trips upstairs. During the first, he grabbed pillows and blankets from Don's bed, his nightlight, and the photos on his dresser; the one of Charlie, Don and their father, and the portrait of their mother. Charlie set up the bedding in the back seat of the car and placed the photos and nightlight in the glove compartment.

On his second trip, he went back into his father's bedroom. He tried to open the nightstand, but found it was locked. Charlie opened a few drawers, looking for the key; finding none, he grew impatient and kicked the drawer, cracking the lock and gaining him entrance to the contents inside, picking up the desired object and putting it in the waistband of his pants against his back, grabbing its accompany items and pushing them down into the front pocket of his pants, recognizing a slip of paper with a phone number on it and putting it into his wallet, rushing down the stairs to his father.

Charlie approached him from the side. He sat down next to him on the couch, quietly trying to get him to come out of his shell. But his father did not respond, just stared ahead- buried in his loss.

"Dad, we need to get Don. I can't do it alone, so I need you to snap out of it and help me." Charlie ran his left hand through his own hair while he rubbed his father's back with the other. This wasn't working. They needed to get going- if Don had managed to call them, it had to have been without Thompson's knowledge. Wanting to work swiftly and have his mind focused on his tasks, Charlie hadn't allowed himself to think about the busy signal he had received when he had tried calling his brother back. As he sat with his father, though, he became conscious of the implications that busy signal had conveyed to him. Either Don could not lift the phone again, which indicated he might already have been hurt, or Thompson had interrupted him in trying to do so. If the latter was the case, who knew what she was doing to him now as punishment.

Charlie tried again. "Dad, please, I need you."

No response.

Charlie leaned back in exasperation, feeling the gun jutting into the small of his back. He reached around and pulled it in front of his face, checking the safety despite the fact that his father had emptied it before putting it away. The night they had first seen this had been a real scare for them, Charlie thought, a real scare.

_A real scare_.

He looked at Alan, apologized silently, and put the gun in front of his father's face so he could easily see it, yelling into his ear, "Donny, no!"

His father startled, his eyes going wide as he leapt forward, reaching for the gun. Charlie released it to him and watched as his father leaned back with it gripped in his hand, his breathing fast and his body tensely alert. Several minutes passed till he looked at Charlie, frowning and with anger flashing in his eyes.

"Why the hell did you do that?"

"Because," Charlie replied as he pulled his father to his feet, "I need your help. Come on."

Alan groaned, shaking out his limbs and stretching, sore from having sat in the same position for hours, handing the gun over to Charlie, who put it back where he'd had it. "Charlie, I don't feel like going anywhere or doing anything."

Charlie tugged at his arm. "But I need you, Dad."

Alan allowed Charlie to lead him on. "Where are we going, Charlie," he demanded as they headed to the front door.

Charlie could not suppress a gleeful grin.

"We're going to kidnap Don."


	4. How We Broke In

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

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Alan insisted Charlie go to a drive-thru so they could get something to eat, ignoring his son's complaints that they were wasting time. As they drove down the highway, the smell of food was too much for Charlie and he realized how hungry he was. Alan smiled and handed him the extra burger he had bought in anticipation of the request. They had both eaten very little that week and though Charlie had finally eaten a large breakfast, it had been earlier in the day. While they gulped their food, Alan managed to speak in between bites.

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting Charlie." He continued to chew. "Maybe we would have thought of this sooner if I hadn't been so angry about what happened in court."

Charlie stole some fries from the bag his father had dropped between their seats. "Is that the pot apologizing to the kettle? If so, this is the kettle apologizing to the pot." After swallowing the fries practically whole, Charlie wiped his hands across a napkin he'd laid on his jeans. "I don't think either of us was thinking too clearly this past week."

"This past week? Humph," Alan said, "we haven't been thinking straight since Don got home. Should have taken off a long time ago."

"Yeah," Charlie shook three fries at his father, keeping the steering wheel steady with his left hand, "maybe- but who would have thought those courts would be crazy enough to give Don to Thompson?"

Alan snatched the fries from Charlie and ate them down in two bites, following the food with a long draw on his straw, sucking in half the pop in the oversized cup. Charlie grabbed it out of his hands before he could put it down, draining the remainder of its contents.

Both men fell silent when they finished eating, Alan deciding to get a few hours sleep, his spirit rejuvenated with the food and the thought of holding his son once again. Charlie focused on keeping a steady speed so they wouldn't be pulled over- it took all of his control to prevent his foot from pressing the pedal all the way down, his desire to reach Don throwing all other thoughts from his mind.

_Please wait for me_, Charlie chanted in his mind, _I'm coming for you, Don._

A little over four hours later, Charlie was exiting the highway and making his way down the road that would eventually take them to Melinda Thompson's home. He remembered his way from when he had taken Jimmy there to see his grandfather Bob, the memory appearing to be from an event from a long time in his past. Had it really been only a month since he'd first come here, passing by Thompson's house on his way home and seeing his brother standing in her front window, not knowing who he was or the horrible treatment he was receiving while he was there? Charlie felt as if he was coming full circle to that first night, wondering if Don was staring out Thompson's front window once again, waiting for this brother and father to come get him. If so, Charlie was determined this would not be a repeat performance; this time, there would be no passing by Thompson's home and leaving Don behind. This time, whatever the consequences, they were going to get his brother and bring him home, Charlie defining home the same way Don had, as anyplace where he, his father, and his brother were allowed to be together.

As they were coming upon Thompson's house, Charlie looked for a place to hide their car. He found one on the opposite side of the street and two city blocks down from her home. Charlie pulled into the small enclave with high bushes on all sides but the one through which he drove, the ground easy to drive onto because it was covered in low weeds. He shut off the engine and put the keys in his front jeans pocket, waiting while his father stretched and woke up completely. A car passed them- Charlie could hear its engine but could not see it, satisfied they were completely concealed as the bushes were so dense the lights of the car had not been able to penetrate them. Finally, he took a deep breath and turned to his father.

"Okay, so what's the plan?"

Alan stared at him in shock. "What do you mean, _what's the plan_? You're the one who dragged me from the house saying we're going to kidnap Don- _you _should have the plan."

Charlie sank as if embarrassed into his seat. "I knew we had to get Don and what we'd need to take care of him once we had him again, but I didn't figure out the stuff in-between arriving here and driving away with Don."

Alan ran a hand over his face. "Charlie, I may be wrong, but that _stuff in-between_ is going to be the most difficult part of our scheme."

He looked at his son; the crumpled-up way he sat suddenly reminded Alan of his son's natural childlike inclinations and innocence. It should not have surprised him that Charlie hadn't thought out a method by which they could force themselves into a woman's home and physically take Don away from her; Charlie could respond angrily when provoked, but to sit down and plan a crime was really not something that would come easily to his youngest son.

Thinking of himself, Alan realized it _was_ something that would come easily to him; after all, he had organized and partaken in peace protests that were at times considered criminal acts, even though he had known his behavior fell within traditional lines of moral conduct. Their current situation was the same- it might be criminal to break into Thompson's house and the courts might say they had no right to possess Don- but Alan had absolutely no doubts that what they were doing was morally right, and he knew Charlie felt the same. However, Charlie driving to the house with the intention of getting his brother was not the same as a physical confrontation with Thompson; no matter how wicked she was, it probably bothered Charlie to think about having to harm her, as he had never been prone to violence. Alan thought about how he had been able to lean on Charlie for over three months, his youngest son taking care of both him and his brother, the strength Charlie had shown . But caring for his family was something that Charlie could understand- physical aggression was beyond his comprehension. It was most likely the reason Charlie had told Alan he needed him; Charlie needed his father as backup in case he was unable to use the physcial force that might be necessary to complete their task.

After having leaned so heavily on Charlie for so long, Alan thought it was fair that his son wanted to lay the weight of their current predicament on him.

Now, if he could just figure out what they should do...

Alan spoke slowly, voicing his thoughts as they came to him. "I think our best bet would be to sneak in through a basement window in the back and work our way upstairs to Thompson-get some kind of control over her before going to Don- you know, tie her up or something like that. We'd be able to get Don out of there without hurting her and it would give us enough time to get out of state before she could call in the authorities. It's not much of a plan, but what do you think, Charlie?"

Relieved to have his father directing this part of the show, Charlie nodded. "If you don't mind, maybe you could carry this, too?" He handed the gun to his father. When Alan checked it and saw it was empty, he asked Charlie for the bullets, loading the gun while Charlie watched him nervously. "I brought it, but I really didn't think we'd use it."

"Charlie," Alan said as he checked the safety, "I know you're determined to get your brother and I think you would prefer to do so without force, but don't forget this woman is dangerous. I don't want to have to use this either- I'm not sure if I even know how this thing works- but if I have to, I will. If nothing else, then you and Donny can go hide someplace."

"No way," Charlie shook his head, "No sacrifices, Dad- if we all go in, we all come out together, no matter what happens. That's the deal."

"Okay, Charlie," Alan agreed reluctantly, knowing he would not keep his promise if it meant his sons could get away and he was left to deal with any mess he and Charlie made. He climbed out of the car along with Charlie, hiding the gun under the front of his shirt. They walked slowly to the road and looked both ways for cars, and then around them for prying eyes; they found neither as the road was deserted and there were no neighbors within sight. The nearest one was Bob Anderson, and his house was on the opposite side from where they were making their approach.

Once they were sure all was clear, Charlie and Alan ran across the street, heading into the woods that led up to Thompson's home. They walked steadily but were careful of where they stepped, their hands held out in front of them so they did not stumble into a bush or tree; there was no moon out and it was almost pitch black, making their progress slow and rough. But they had no choice, not wanting to risk Thompson seeing them if they walked along the road. It took over twenty minutes to reach the edge of the trees; once there, they carefully observed Thompson's home before making their final approach.

"I don't see a car," Charlie whispered, "but she has a garage, so it might be inside."

"Doesn't look like any lights are on," Alan noted, "you don't think she took Don somewhere?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out. So, we're going in through the back?"

"Basement window."

Alan added with a note of sarcasm, "That's where he supposedly got all those rat bites." Fueled by the anger that memory brought them, Alan and Charlie immediately crouched down and rushed to the back of the house, stopping at the nearest basement window. They scanned the area to see if anyone had detected their presence, but saw nothing that indicated anyone had- no lights coming on in Bob's house across the way and none in the house before them. All was still, the only sound coming from crickets chirping in the grass all around them. Charlie left Alan momentarily, raising his finger to indicate his father should wait, and he ran around the side of the house, peering into the garage through a window, waiting for his eyes to adjust so he could make out its interior, then running back to his father.

"No car," Charlie whispered, "I thought she might have left Don alone- it was the only way he could have called us."

"Then let's hurry," Alan replied. "If she's not home, we should be able to get him without a confrontation. I'll try the back door- better forget the front, it's too risky. We don't want anyone calling the cops." Alan walked up the few steps leading to the back door and tugged; locked. Alan moved his hands along the door and frame, and then banged on the window next to it. No response. If Don was in there, he was unable to answer them. He finally gave up and returned to Charlie. "Door's too strong to break it in. Guess we're stuck with the window."

Alan leaned down in front of the basement window. It was comprised of twelve individual panes of thin glass. They could see the lock for the window inside and just above the bottom frame.

Charlie took off his jacket. "I guess we can do like on TV and break the glass with a rock and my coat." He folded the jacket and placed it over the center, bottom pane, trying to center it while his father looked for a rock or stone. Alan returned empty-handed.

"Here," Alan said dropping to his knees with a groan, "hold your jacket in place while I..." Alan turned sideways, leaned on his left hand, bent his right arm in half and suddenly slammed his elbow into the center of the jacket. He overestimated his strength, his elbow going easily through the glass and pulling him off-balance into the window, shattering it in several places. He tried to extract his elbow but found a shard of glass, still attached to the window frame, was shoved into his arm at an angle that prevented him from moving without tearing his skin halfway up to his shoulder.

"Charlie," he gasped. "I'm stuck."

Charlie crouched, keeping the jacket up out of the way so he could see the problem. He saw the piece of glass and grasped it between his finger and thumb, bending it forward until it broke free from the frame. Alan slowly extricated his elbow, gingerly pulling the glass free from his arm and tossing it aside.

"You're bleeding," Charlie noted, having released the jacket and taken his father's arm in his hands. "Not too bad, I think. Got something we can wrap it with?"

"Maybe my handkerchief- but later." Alan looked around them nervously. "We need to get inside before someone sees us."

As if on cue, they heard a car pull in front of the house. "Damn!" Alan and Charlie whispered in unison. They listened as footsteps approached the house, a screen door was opened, and a key turned in a lock; then, moments later, the front door shut.

"Now what do we do?" Charlie asked.

"Original plan- get in there and do whatever's necessary to free Don."

Charlie left his jacket where it lay and reached his hand through the opening Alan had made, unlocking the window. "Me first, okay?"

Alan patted him on the back to indicate agreement then pulled the window up. Charlie brushed aside as much glass as he could before lying on his stomach and sliding into the house, steadying himself when his feet touched the basement floor. Immediately, he felt stinging in his palms. Carefully, he brushed his fingertips over his skin, pulling out any small shards of glass that he encountered, ignoring the wetness he felt welling from several of the fine cuts. Then, Charlie stood near the window, at its side, so he could help his father climb down in. Alan handed Charlie the gun before following his lead and lying on his stomach to slip in. Charlie held the gun in one hand and kept the other on Alan's back so his father did not lose balance.

Once Alan was inside, he brushed several slivers of glass from his palms before taking the gun. Charlie tugged his arm, leading him to a corner where they could barely see by the glow of several tiny squares on the fuse box. Overhead, they could hear Thompson walking around. She sounded as if she went into one room at the back of the house, but a few minutes later was up in one at the front. As Charlie took his father's handkerchief and quickly tied it around his bleeding arm, they heard a door open and shut about the middle of the house.

"Ready?" Alan asked Charlie.

Charlie pulled himself to his full height, replying with a firm "yes".

Alan gripped his son's shoulders, quietly telling him, "No matter what happens, Charlie- I am trusting _you_ to take care of your brother. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dad," Charlie said. "You can trust me."

Alan gave him a quick hug, whispering in his ear. "I know I can, Charlie. I've been doing just that the past three months. You're mother would be proud of the man you've become."

Charlie squeezed his father. He knew he would do whatever he had to in order to save Don, but it was good to know he had his father with him to provide much-needed support. In all of his life, Charlie never thought he would be doing something like this, and he hated to admit it- he was scared. If anything went wrong, any one of them could get hurt- even Don.

The two Eppes men broke apart and moved along to the stairs, not wanting to trip over anything and give their presence away. At the bottom of the stairs, Alan clicked off the safety on the gun. Patting Charlie again on the shoulder, he started to slowly ascend the stairs, his son right behind him, both men trying to be careful not to make any noise.

Then they heard Don scream "No, Mommy!" and all cautions were thrown aside as they pounded up the stairs and through the upper door, Alan with the gun shakily extended before him and Charlie hysterically yelling for his brother.

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Megan stood in Bob's kitchen, wondering why she had yet to get through to Charlie or Alan. She had left messages throughout the day, but still no response. Finally, she had contacted David, who promised he would drive by and see how they were doing. This was supposed to have made her feel better, but David had called an hour before and reported nobody appeared to be at home and their car was not in the driveway or garage.

Where did they go?

Even earlier, she had seen Thompson drive away from her house, but it had not been something Megan expected so she had been unable to follow the woman to see where she and Don were going. As a result, Megan had been stuck in Bob's kitchen for over five hours, watching for Thompson's return- the lights off to prevent Thompson from seeing Megan leaning against the kitchen counter with her binoculars trained on her home, the night vision option turned on because there were no lights in the front or the back of Thompson's house.

Megan was in the midst of yawning and deciding to call it a night- really morning she thought tiredly- when she saw movement near the woods next to Thompson's house. She could not be sure, but it had looked like two dark forms had run from the woods to the Thompson's backyard. Wanting a better look, Megan stole from the kitchen, crouching once she was outside, and entered Bob's backyard, moving as far back as she could so she would have an unobstructed view of the back of Thompson's house and then hiding behind a small bush. She focused the binoculars on the general area behind Thompson's house, scanning up and down the backyard until she could see what had caught her attention. She bolted straight up when she saw two vague figures fooling with a basement window. The small height of the one standing was offset by the largeness of the one kneeling beside it.

She knew they had to be Alan and Charlie.

Megan wondered if they knew Thompson and Don weren't there and were planning to ambush her when she brought him home. Just then, Thompson pulled up to the front of the house and parked outside her garage. Megan turned the binoculars on the woman, groaning when she realized Thompson was by herself and carrying what looked like medical supplies.

All that time Don had been alone and Megan had done nothing to get him from that house. And those medical supplies- what had Thompson done to Don that required her to travel a presumably long distance to get them, obviously in an attempt to prevent local people from commenting the same thing- what do you need those for? Now, Megan realized with growing horror, Charlie and Alan were in there with Thompson- both men defenseless against that kind of woman.

Megan made a quick decision to help. Using the binoculars to see the path in front of her, it did not take Megan long to slip past the fence dividing the properties and make her way to Thompson's, the whole while keeping low to the ground, slowing when she neared her destination. Megan made her way around back, seeing the broken window leading to the basement. She knelt before it, but the glass scattered about as well as the blood made her form the opinion that it wouldn't be the best way for her to get into the house. Moving on, she stepped up to the back door and tried to turn the knob.

Locked.

Frustrated and impatient to get inside, Megan decided the direct approach might be best, saying, "To hell with it!" as she kicked in the door.

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Melinda had arrived home tired and angry.

The hospital had told her they had a new set of rules-_have to meet the federal guidelines_- and she had to fill out a multitude of forms before she was able to get the supplies she needed. The whole affair had taken much longer than she anticipated and she could only hope her son was still adequately sedated.

Though really, she thought as she entered the front door, she could easily solve that problem even if he resisted, now that she was equipped with a full case of syringes. And injecting a liquid sedative into her son would be much easier than trying to get him to drink it in powdered form every time it was required. He was bound to eventually figure out his bottles were laced with something that made him sleepy, so yes, the injections would be much more efficient.

Melinda turned on the living room light, checked her son- he looks so beautiful when asleep- and took her supplies into her bedroom, laying them out. She was halfway through sorting them when she suddenly stopped, dropping a syringe back in its original place.

Something seemed out of place in her house, but she couldn't think what it was. Trying to brush the uneasy feeling aside, she continued...

The living room- it was in there, when she first entered the house. Melinda left her bedroom, walking quickly to the front of the house, standing in the middle of the living room as she looked around it.

What is it?

There.

Melinda stood in front of the phone, its receiver hanging almost imperceptibly off the hook. She put it in place, hesitating several moments before lifting the receiver to her ear and hitting redial.

When the sound of Charlie and Alan's voices came across the line, Melinda's cold fury lowered the temperature of the room ten degrees. She replaced the phone and walked to her son's room, turning on the light as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her and stepping across to grab the belt on the dresser where she had put it after force-feeding her son his dinner.

Two more steps and she yanked down his briefs, Don looking at her with sad and unfocused eyes. Then her hand was raised above her head and the lashes started, one after the other, Don still too drugged to stop her, finally able to scream "No mommy" with the last bit of his strength before he began to slip into unconsciousness, the beatings too much for his already wrecked body.

Melinda's mind was set on one thing only: teaching her son the consequences of contacting his former family. She did not hear Alan and Charlie clobbering up the basement stairs nor Charlie's voice crying out for his brother.

Her attention was completely on her task.

Charlie and Alan checked two doors before stumbling into Don's, Charlie throwing himself over Don when he saw Thompson raising her hand to thrash him again, while Alan dropped the gun and tried to contain Melinda, putting his right hand over her arm and tugging her towards him, away from his sons. Charlie pulled his feet up onto the bed, his hands on either side of Don's shoulders, completely covering his brother as he had done in their bed when keeping away the bad dreams that had assaulted Don, receiving three lashes of the belt across his own back before his father turned the woman away from them. "I'm here, Don, I'm here," Charlie whispered soothingly, sucking back sobs as he felt his shirt dampen from where the skin had broken on Don's backside and began to bleed.

Melinda faced Alan with burning eyes, hatred so harsh he was shaken to his very core and faltered in his grip, the woman taking advantage and striking him across the face with the belt. But Alan swiftly recovered, snatching the buckle end of the belt from her hand and shoving her back against the dresser, his own rage so strong he briefly lost control, using the belt to strike the woman across her upturned hands and upper arms repeatedly, bellowing at her- "_How does it feel! How does it feel!_" with every blow he hit her with, stopping at last when Thompson collapsed to the floor, moaning.

Alan dropped the belt, staggering towards his sons, a heart wrenching cry escaping his lips when he saw the condition Don was in, falling to his knees and holding his sons protectively. "Oh, lord, look what she's done- look what she's done."

Behind them, Melinda lifted up on her arms, glaring at them, shaking from the pain that Alan's beating had dealt her. She wiped the hair from her sweaty brow, her eyes falling on the gun Alan had dropped in their scuffle. Keeping her eyes on Charlie and Alan, who were trying to wake Don, she picked up the gun and drew herself to her feet, silently stepping back towards the open bedroom door, gripping its edge in order to steady herself.

Melinda raised the gun, pointing it at the back of Alan's head, slowly pulling the trigger...

Then she felt a hand grip her shoulder, spinning her around, the gun discharging wildly away from the Eppes, looking into the face of Megan, who pulled back her fist and cold cocked Melinda with a single punch.

Charlie and Alan stared at Melinda's limp body lying flat on the floor in front of them; then they raised their eyes to Megan, who was busy picking up the gun. Once it was in her possession, she turned on its safety and slipped it into the top band of her shorts.

"Megan," Charlie whispered, "can you teach me to do that?"


	5. Why We Had To Leave

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

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"Don…Don…please wake up."

Charlie kneeled beside his brother's still form and wiped the sweat from his brow with a washcloth Megan had brought to him from the bathroom, right before she had left the room a second time to look for medicinal supplies. Don remained silent, his breathing short and labored. Charlie laid the washcloth on the floor and, careful to avoid touching his lower back, gently rested his left cheek besides Don's, his face towards his brother's left shoulder, singing softly in his ear.

Halfway into the third lullaby, Don stirred, his eyes barely opening. "Charlie," he whispered hoarsely, "I knew you'd come."

Upon hearing his brother's voice, Charlie smiled with relief, ran three fingers in his hair and assured him, "Any time you call, bro, I promise."

Alan was busy positioning Melinda on the recliner in the corner of the room. Once Megan had knocked her out, they had taken a thorough look at the woman and realized she was in bad shape. Her left jaw was developing a bluish hue while the lower back of her arms had thick red lines raised across them from where Alan had struck her with the belt. With the hair on her head all amiss, her clothes crumpled, and bruises starting to appear along her neck and shoulder, Melinda looked as if she had taken a hard beating, which, Alan noted with shame, she had; but not as badly as my son, he told himself to alleviate the guilt.

It was concern for his eldest son that had compelled Alan to hide Melinda in the corner of the room. Charlie had been trying for almost ten minutes to wake Don before he finally succeeded; it was during this small window of time that Alan decided it would be traumatic for Don to see Melinda in her current condition, both because he would be scared to see her damaged body and also because he might connect her injuries to his father's and brother's presences in his room. If Alan knew his son well, and he did, Don would have rather been left to Melinda's beatings than have his supposed-mommy get hurt in the least; Alan was afraid Don would blame himself for any harm that had come to her because he had been the one to call Charlie, and Alan knew his child did not need the associated guilt added to his already befuddled mind.

Just as he was laying Melinda's left arm gently across her stomach, Alan heard Don's whispered cry of faith in Charlie. He left the woman and quickly went to Don's side, dropping to his knees beside his sons and then kissing Don on the forehead. "Are you awake, Donny?"

For a second time since their arrival, Don lifted his eyelids a fraction of an inch in an attempt to see his family, softly crying, "Daddy?"

"I'm here, Donny, right here." Alan kissed him several more times, on his cheek, on his forehead, on his eyes, feeling his own relief that Don was no longer unconscious. Don lowered his lids closed at his father's words, drifting off once again, this time to a comforted sleep. Charlie pulled his head from Don's and sat down cross-legged on the floor, slipping his left hand over his brother's, tentatively checking his back with the other. "He doesn't look very good," Charlie said worriedly.

"I know, Charlie," Alan agreed. He leaned on the head of the bed and pulled up into a standing position, surprised his body didn't ache, feeling as if the heavy load of worry from the last three months had dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind a manageable amount of uncomplicated concern for his son's well-being. "I'll see if Megan found anything to put on his"-

Megan came into the room with an armful of bandages and salve, plus a black carrying pouch that she placed on the dresser before dropping the other supplies on the floor beside Charlie. "Were you able to wake him up?" Megan asked, swiping hair from both sides of her face before settling her hands on her hips.

"Yes," Charlie replied, "but he fell asleep when he heard we were here." He took his hand from Don and picked up a single container of salve from amidst a collection of ten, turning it over and over angrily. "I can't believe how many jars of this she bought." Alan and Megan frowned along with him, the implication of his statement not lost on them; obviously, Melinda planned to need the ointment and they knew the reason why.

Alan's guilt for having hit Melinda was fading fast, easily being replaced by a resurgent desire to beat Melinda a second and a third time, never stopping till the woman was ground from existence, a desire he was uncertain he'd be able to control if he was within such short distance to the woman much longer. His jaws clenching, Alan asked Charlie, "Do you think you can take care of Don on your own?"

Nodding, Charlie replied, "I might not be very good at home invasions, but taking care of Don is my specialty."

His attitude briefly mellowing, Alan quietly told him, "I've noticed that." For a moment, Charlie beamed up at his father proudly, then he quickly became serious and set upon his task, opening a bottle of saline solution, tearing open several packages with his teeth to gain access to the wraps inside, and began tending, with great care and love, to his brother's injuries, his mind thoroughly occupied with keeping Don's pain to a minimum.

After a quick check to see that Melinda was still unconscious, Alan put an arm under her neck and another under her legs, lifted her gently despite the temptation to squeeze the life out of her, then carried her from the room, looking around for a place to put her once they were in the hallway. Megan slipped by them and motioned him down the hall, leading Alan into the back bedroom with the hospital bed. Alan lowered Melinda onto the mattress, his anger subsiding as he perceived how frail the woman's body was while she was in his arms; he stepped back and leaned against the wall, a pot of emotional conflict boiling within him- a small war between wanting to murder Melinda and personal horror at harboring such vicious thoughts about such a now-timid-looking person. No wonder Don had a hard time dealing with the woman, he thought, she seemed so harmless when only looking at her outward appearance, but was such a terror when looking at the results of her behavior. Somehow, it was almost impossible to reconcile the two halves that compromised Melinda Thompson.

Megan leaned against the wall next to Alan. "I think it's about time we call the police, Alan- if we wait much longer, they won't believe anything we have to say."

At the mention of bringing in law enforcement Alan suddenly felt a surge of single-minded energy course throughout his body. He pushed away from the wall and exited the room, leaving Megan puzzled as to what he was going to do, the agent unable to see for herself as she was unwilling to leave Melinda alone; there was no telling when the woman would wake up. Megan could hear Alan throwing open drawers in the kitchen so forcefully that the sound easily reached the back bedroom, his emergence some time later with duct tape in his hands making her eyes open in surprise. She watched as Alan went to Melinda and began to carefully tear long strips of tape from the roll, attempting to stop him before he could go further.

"Alan, what are you doing? If the police find her like this…"

His voice sharply cut her off. "Megan, I appreciate you coming to our rescue. God knows what would have happened if you hadn't been keeping an eye on this house, but me and Charlie came here for one reason and one reason only; we're taking Don away and we _don't_ want any interference- from you or the law."

Megan sidestepped around Alan, who started to wrap tape around Melinda's right arm and the sidebar of the bed. "I thought that was what you two were planning when I first spotted you at the back of this house, but it's not necessary now. You walked in on her attacking Don, so you have an excuse for everything you did. Nobody could possibly fault you for it."

"Does _nobody_ include a judge? Because quite frankly, there's not a one of them that I'd trust in the whole state of California." Alan tugged on the tape binding Melinda's arm, was satisfied it was tight enough, and moved on to her left one, duct tape in tow. He began working again, his eyes on what he was doing.

Megan stood next to Alan, watching as he bound Melinda's left arm to the railing, deciding it was enough to keep the woman under control until she and Alan could finish their talk. Grabbing the duct tape, Megan told Alan, "We need to sit down and seriously discuss this before you go too far." She walked away, heading to the living room, sitting on the couch and then waiting for Alan to follow, not disappointed- because he did. Alan sat down next to her, leaned forward, ran a hand over his face, his ticks noticeably gone, never to return. For the first time since Don had come home, Alan was not overly anxious and depressed about his son's condition or his future; Charlie would take care of his current wounds and, no matter what it cost on a personal or monetary level to him or Charlie, he was satisfied that kidnapping Don and hiding him away from Thompson was the solution they'd been looking for to prevent Don from receiving more wounds, convinced that their 'crime' would allow Don to completely heal at last. Alan had faith that they would be able to help Don become himself again all on their own, and now that they had Don in their possession again because Charlie had compelled them to solve their problems themselves, he had learned that trusting his youngest son to care for his eldest was one of the best decision he had ever made in his life, the knowledge of which was solidifying his nerves into steel rope.

As Alan faced Megan, he was aware that he needed to convince her to let him and Charlie do that for Don, needed her to step out of the way so they could leave, not wanting to think about what he'd have to do to the young agent if he failed in his attempt. She'd been a part of their extended family for far too long to make any motion against her easy, but Alan knew he and Charlie would do what was necessary to save Don.

The elder Eppes glanced at the tape Megan had placed on the table before them.

"Look," Megan began, "if we call within the next ten, fifteen minutes, it won't seem as if we waited too long before notifying them. We can change the time of our arrival- nobody would know but us, 'cause it's obvious the neighbors haven't noticed anything wrong or else the police would have come by now."

Alan cleared his throat before he responded. "Megan, you are talking from the point of view of someone in law enforcement who is used to _calling it in_. For once, I want to look at things from Melinda Thompson's point of view and think about what she'll say about what happened, because quite frankly, hers is the only opinion the law seems to want to listen to."

"Not this time, Alan. We have physical proof of her behavior- no one can deny those fresh lashes across Don's bottom and lower back." Megan sat with her body bent towards Alan, eagerly assuring him, "they'll _have _to haul her away for that kind of physical abuse."

"Really?" Alan cocked a doubting eyebrow at her. "Who's to say _I'm_ not the one who hit Donny?"

Megan stared at him stunned. "Thompson can claim that, but…but the court investigator came to your house. Don didn't have any marks on him then. These had to have been made after he left your house."

"You're unaware that I called adult services and filed a report against Thompson Tuesday"-

"Actually," Megan interrupted, "I thought I saw them come by."

"Well, then you can guess that they examined Don and didn't find any bruises on him. I don't have to guess, because that's what they told me."

"Alan," Megan nodded in agreement, "that's my point. These injuries are all from tonight."

"Coincidentally," he pointed out, "the only night Charlie and I were here."

Megan had to think about that fact before trying further reasoning, "If you didn't hit him when he was at your house for the two weeks he stayed there, why would anyone think you drove all the way up here to do that tonight?"

"Because I wouldn't think of hitting Don while he was living with me and knowing the courts would be keeping an eye on the way I treated him. But when they handed Don over to Thompson, I was so furious I came up here to force him to come back with me, only he didn't want to leave his loving mommy, so I hit him."

"Alan," Megan said disbelievingly, "that doesn't make sense."

Ignoring her comment, he continued, "Then Thompson ran into the room to protect her son and I turned the belt on her, causing considerable damage to the much-smaller-than-me woman."

Resignedly, Megan said, "Alright, let's assume she is going to make up a story like that. I still think we can point out the falsities of some of those claims."

"For instance?" Alan asked patiently.

Megan thought several moments, arranging her arguments in her head, frustrated she could come up with so few. "Well, the belt belongs to Thompson, so she must have been the one who used it on Don. I don't think anyone would believe you brought it with you."

"You have proof that it's hers?" Alan scoffed, "Because the last belt we turned in to the Bureau was identified as being too generic to be specifically traced back to her. Besides, even if they proved she bought it, she can say she gave it to Don to use and she'd left it in his bedroom when he got undressed tonight. Then, when I went into his room, in my anger I grabbed the object within easiest reach of my hand, taking the belt off his dresser or off the floor or wherever so I could lash him with it- what did Don used to say they called that?" Megan was about to speak when Alan answered his own question. "Oh, yeah-it's a _weapon of convenience_."

"But you can tell them you took it from _her_ because she was beating Don."

"And why," Alan asked, "would they believe me? Honestly, Megan, there's more evidence that I'm violent than there's proof that Thompson is."

"Like what? There's not a person around who could testify to ever seeing you exhibit violent tendencies."

"Maybe not, but I am carrying evidence of it here." Alan held his right hand out to Megan, who peered at it closely, sat back and almost sighed in defeat. In the middle of his palm, three partial lines and points were carved into his skin, not perfect in their rectangular design, but would clearly be perceived as the imprint of a belt buckle, a piece of skin missing from the flap between his thumb and index finger. "I guess I held it a little too tight when I took it from her," Alan apologized to no one in particular. Megan knew Alan was right about his hand. Anyone who held a buckle so tight it actually broke his skin had to have done so in a bout of fury. _She_ didn't blame him for his actions, but if they couldn't prove Thompson was hitting Don with it at the time- a prosecutor and jury would.

"I still say you can tell them the truth- that you heard Don screaming for help and you went to his rescue." Megan tapped long fingers on her leg. "I can back you up on that, say I was coming by to visit and heard his cries from the back door. Any parent seeing his son being beaten that badly would have wrenched the belt away from his attacker with that much force."

"Megan, you're the one not making any sense. Let's go over the problems with your claims." She blew out a long breath, trying to listen attentively, not wanting to hear what he had to say- mainly, she admitted inwardly, because the more he talked, the worse their defense was becoming. "First, you have to be able to prove you could hear a person screaming from the back door. Don's room is quite a distance away from it and the door itself was pretty solid." He added, "Nice job being able to kick it in by the way."

"Thanks," Megan muttered.

"I would suppose they would test to see how much you can hear between outside and his room, and if we gamble that you can hear a scream that distance, but you can't- well, that alone blows our story." Megan wanted to argue but Alan waved her quiet. "And then what about me and Charlie even being in Alta Sierra? Sure, Don called us up and indicated he missed us- but we should have talked to our lawyer about the situation, or at least given Thompson a call and asked for permission to visit. Instead, we show up here in the middle of the night, hide our car down the street, break in through her basement window and entered her house carrying a gun; one, I might add, that can probably be traced back to us if they ever find the bullet that she fired earlier. It was in Don's possessions and nobody had access to them but me and Charlie. And I would say the breaking and entering along with carrying a gun will definitely be considered further indications of our violent tendencies."

Alan finished by stating emphatically, "We can't make any of those facts sound better than they do, no matter what spin you put on them."

Trying one last attempt at making her case, Megan said halfheartedly, "But if Don were to testify…"

"No!" Alan snapped. "He's not well enough to be put through a police interview."

"Okay," Megan easily relented, "I have to agree. Still, if you, me and Charlie all told the same story, it'd be three against one."

"The numbers don't work for us this time." Charlie appeared in the entrance to the living room. He had finished putting ointment and bandages on Don's back, leaving him to check on his father and Megan, walking in at the beginning of their conversation but choosing to remain quiet as he listened to them talk. He was aware that time was fleeing them and he wanted to finish the discussion so they could take Don from Thompson's house as soon as possible, as if distance was the cure-all for the harm done to his brother's body and mind, and in that, not being too far off in his assessment.

Stepping forward, he came close to the people sitting on the couch. "The three persons who would be telling the truth to the police are comprised of two who have already been accused in a court of law of having tried to illegally institutionalize my brother."

Megan groaned, finally giving up. How could she have forgotten that? After all, it was the only reason she was here to begin with, her presence at Bob's house the result of her forced vacation from the Bureau. It was clear if they called the police, she would not be interviewed as the respected F.B.I. agent she had always been, but would probably be viewed as the person Thompson had made her out to be- someone willing to break the law to force Don into compliance with her own evil wishes, though she had yet to figure out what she was to gain from the actions she had already been accused of committing.

No matter, Megan thought, I'm sure Thompson will think of something.

Charlie and Alan looked at Megan expectantly, silently waiting for her to tell them if she was going to allow them to leave without her interference. She sat nervously thinking about the ramifications of any decision she made; if she let Charlie and Alan sneak away with Don, she would be an accomplice to their actions, something that would permanently affect her career and thus her entire life. But hell, she thought, I'm already an accomplice, aren't I? She was the one who'd knocked out Thompson, though she supposed she could have Alan bind her, too, and claim she had been confused about who was harming whom when walking into the alteration between them. That would leave her in the clear and allow the Eppes to escape. However, she would rather they had come up with a plausible story that would allow all of them to steer clear of incarceration and legally return Don back to his family, which was why she had argued with Alan for so long-

And which brought her to the crux of the situation.

She simply didn't want them to leave.

If they did, they would take away Don, disappearing to who knew where. Which meant she might be able to return to the Bureau, but it would be without a man who had sneakily stolen into her heart and, now she openly admitted to herself, had somehow managed to captivate it from a distance. Megan realized it would be unbearable if a further distance were put between them, one that would be immeasurable because she would have no idea how many miles away his new location would be.

Looking into the faces before her, Megan was confident they were going to leave with Don whether she wanted them to go or not. Her eyes falling from theirs as she contemplated her next move, it suddenly occurred to her the duct tape was no longer on the coffee table. A wry grin appeared on her face. Alan had obviously been thinking the same thoughts as she had about binding her, only his reason was not to protect her from prosecution but to save his son. How could she stand in the way of such determination? Megan knew that she couldn't, and further more, she wanted to be a part of it. Her mind made up, she told them- "I put a pack of syringes on Don's dresser. They're full of a sedative that Thompson was probably intending to use on him, another thing we couldn't use against her if we had talked to the police because it's the same medicine Dr. Wang prescribed him- but we _can_ use it to keep her quiet while we get Don wrapped and ready to leave. And if we keep her taped up, then we should have plenty of time to get out of here before she wakes up and tries to get free so she can call the police herself."

Alan hesitated before accepting her help. He didn't like getting Megan involved, but as she had already determined, they were far past making that decision. "I'll wrap her legs, too, just to be on the safe side, while you get the sedative. It would be better if she didn't wake up screaming for Don; I don't think he'll want to leave if he thinks she needs help."

Charlie stood aside and let them pass, following Megan into Don's bedroom as his father headed back to Melinda. "Do you think it'll be alright for him to travel? I had thought he might need to go to the hospital, but once I cleaned off his wounds they didn't seem as bad as I'd thought- but still, they're pretty awful."

Megan sat beside Don, who continued to lie on his stomach, sleeping exhaustedly. Gingerly, she peeled back a bandage and looked beneath it. "If we're careful to clean them and put fresh wrappings on at least once a day, probably twice would be better, keep a close eye on them, I think they'll heal by themselves and it will be safe for him to travel. Before we get on the road, though, we better stop and get some pain medicine and more supplies. There's enough salve and saline solution, but not enough wraps."

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by _we_?"

"I mean," Megan said after refastening the bandage and standing up, "as in you, your father, Don, and me- that's what I mean."

"You're not coming with us," Charlie stated firmly, "we don't even know where we're going, yet."

"Then what does it matter if I tag along?"

"Megan, I think I speak for both my dad and I when I say we don't want you to throw your career and your life away over us. We'll be fine on our own. What's the old saying- _God watches over fools and kids._ Me and Dad are the fools and Don's definitely the kid."

Alan briskly entered the room, putting a halt to the conversation, immediately informing them, "She's starting to come to- I think now would be a good time to sedate her, before she's completely awake." Megan grabbed the package of syringes from the dresser and left to take care of Melinda. "What were you two arguing about?" Alan asked Charlie once she was gone.

Charlie hung his head, hands kneading the skin on his hips. "She wants to come with us."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Charlie worked a finger into his hair, twisting. "She can't, can she? Won't it be hard enough for three of us to stay hidden- but four? It's too risky."

They both debated this issue for several minutes before Megan returned to the room and placed the package of syringes back on the dresser. "It's all taken care of- she'll be out for a while." She walked over to the recliner and sat down at its edge. "So, what's our plan?"

Alan stared at her, wondering what was going through her mind, deciding it was best to gather that information by simply asking. "Charlie says our plan now seems to involve you."

"Yes, Alan, it does. I'm sorry, but I'm in far too deep to go back now."

"Not really. We could say"-

"I didn't know that you had attacked Thompson, so when I saw her holding the gun and hit her, it was all a mistake? No, that won't work," Megan said, though she wasn't convinced she was saying the truth, "they'll never believe me. Remember, I'm your cohort in a previous crime against Don- who's going to believe I wasn't helping you commit this one?"

"So the only solution is to run away with us?" Charlie asked skeptically.

"Yes, unless you'd rather I ran on my own."

"That's not it, Megan," Charlie tried to explain, "We can't risk bringing attention to ourselves- and four people in a group definitely stand out more than three."

Megan stubbornly refused to give in to this argument. "I don't think one more person will make much difference. But even if it does, I'm worth the risk." At the Eppes' questioning gazes she continued, "Look, wherever you go, when Don does start to get better, he will probably have many issues to deal with concerning everything that has happened to him. It is not unusual for a person who's been tortured the way he has to fall victim to depression; I'm not talking about being sad- but serious, clinical depression. If you're trying to keep yourselves hidden, you might not have ready access to the psychological care Don would need if this occurred and you could find that a lot of emotional and mental harm will have been done by the time you did. That won't be a problem if I tag along. I can help Don handle any psychological problems that he may have- _as_ they emerge."

Charlie and Alan thought about what she said, remembering how Don's therapists had indicated he would need psychotherapy. Megan was right- he was going to require ready access to that particular type of help and it bothered them to contemplate not having it available for Don. The two men communicated silently, knowing the doubt of the other, unspoken questions and answers flowing between them. Without a sound, they mutually agreed to allow Megan to accompany them, their decision reinforced when they turned to her and observed her determination by how hard her jaw was set. It wouldn't have mattered if they hadn't wanted her to join them. They clearly weren't going to convince her to stay and after all she'd done for them, it didn't seem right to let her take off on her own and fend for herself.

"Fine," Charlie said, "you can come- but only if you don't slow us down."

"I can keep up," she said.

Charlie went to Don, crouched and laid a soft hand on his brother's head, running his open palm down to his left temple and back up again. "We better get moving." He spoke to Alan, "Megan says we should pick up some more medical supplies and..." he looked at her, "I guess you'll need to pack a few things, too. Only, the problem with that is we'll have to go back to Los Angeles."

"Don't worry," she told them, "I have everything I need next door at Bob's."

Alan thoughtfully appraised Megan. "It sounds like you were planning to watch Don for a while."

"Well, I was on vacation for an undetermined length of time, so it wasn't like I had anything better to do."

"Oh."

Embarrassed, she turned away from his probing eyes, walking over to Don and checking his bandages.

Alan let the matter drop. He had suddenly discerned that there was another reason that Megan wanted to be with them, and he would bet it had nothing to do with fleeing from the law. Megan could tell them she had no other choice, but he and Charlie weren't stupid; if they were ever caught and backed her story that she had nothing to do with their kidnapping of Don, there was no court that wouldn't believe her innocent. As he watched Megan check Don's condition with extreme tenderness, her interest in going with them was now transparently clear to him; it had more to do with being with Don than avoiding the law. Alan was just surprised he hadn't seen it before.

_Had other things on your mind_, he thought.

Charlie lowered Don's tee shirt down his back and stood. "Now's a good time to decide where we're heading."

Alan told Charlie, "We're past the _in-between stuff _of this kidnapping, so I'll leave that up to you."

"Well, it so happens that I did give some consideration to our departure." Charlie pulled out his wallet, moved a few things back and forth until he found a slip of paper with a number written on it. As he took out his cell phone, he told Megan, "Why don't you get your things from Bob's and bring them back here."

Her arms crossed in doubt, she asked, "You won't leave without me, will you?"

Alan walked her from the room. "Megan, you're like a daughter to me. If I say we won't go without you, I promise, we won't."

Trusting his honor, Megan left, hurrying to Bob's with a deep hope the old man was still asleep. Alan returned to Charlie in time to hear him speaking into his phone. "Hey, Billy? It's Charlie. Turns out we need your help after all."


	6. What He Told Us to Do

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

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"It took ya long enough."

Charlie listened to Billy's voice growling through the phone in one ear, Alan whispering in the other that he was going to check on Don- then both of his eyes watched his father leaving the room, the elder man trusting his youngest to handle their traveling arrangements.

"I can't argue there," Charlie spoke into his phone, "But now that we've come to our senses, we're asking for your help."

"Well, get ready to get what you asked for. Ya have a pen and paper handy?" Billy asked.

Charlie went into Melinda's kitchen and repeated his father's earlier action, looking through the drawers until he found what he needed. He placed a yellow legal tablet on the kitchen counter, held his phone in his left hand and got ready to write with a pen now held expectantly in his right. "Ready."

Billy's voice shifted and took on a serious tone, professional-sounding and business-like. "This is what you're gonna have to do. First, gather all the information you have about Don's condition- physicals, pyschologicals, anything that tells what's wrong with him, especially the ones describing the shape they found him in when they took him from that bitch's house. If you have a copy of the last physical he took before she got her hands on him, that would be even better- it'll make it easier to compare his overall health from before and after the time he spent with her. Then after that, you gotta get all of your court documents together; don't forget the last one, where you lost custody of him. I'm assuming you did, cause why else would you call? Did you try to use the courts in any other way _besides _your attempts to obtain custody?"

"No," Charlie responded, "just for the conservator... no, wait a minute. My dad tried to have a restraining order put in place against Dr. Thompson, but they turned down his petition."

"Okay, if you have a copy of that petition and the denial he received, include that, too. You need to have as much evidence as you can that the courts have undermined all of your efforts to keep Don away from Thompson- as well as everything you have to prove why he _needs_ to be kept from her; the legal and medical papers will cover all of that."

Charlie interrupted with confusion in his voice. "Why do we have to collect all of this information before you'll help us?"

"Just listen," Billy said impatiently, "and trust me. Now, you need to get a picture of Don with you and your dad in it- you know, a family portrait of just you three. Do you have a recent one?"

"I have one that was from a while ago, but nothing since all of this happened."

"Too bad. I guess you'll have to use what's available, but it would of been nice if you'd had one with Don sucking his thumb and carrying that rabbit- sometimes a picture really does speak volumes. Now, listen carefully to this next set of instructions, cause you have to do exactly- I mean _exactly _what I'm gonna tell you to do- if you make one mistake, we're talking major delays."

"I'm writing down every word you say," Charlie assured him.

Satisfied, Billy continued, this time talking extremely slow and enunciating every word. "Punch-hole all of Don's legal and medical reports, then put a clasp into each hole to keep the papers altogether, so you make like a little book, something that's easy to flip through and read. On top of that, put a one-page, typed summary that includes a brief history of each of your backgrounds- you, Don, and your dad, including professional and educational experience- and a description of everything that has happened to Don from the time he went missing, basically why you are choosing to go into hiding. Don't hold back; if his life is in danger, say that. Now, the whole summary has to be single-spaced and can't be any longer than a page, so be succinct, will ya? Okay, next clip that family picture to the top of the summary and reports and slip the entire bundle into a _bright yellow 9 X 12 inch envelope_, one of those kinds with the metal clasps. Don't lick it shut- just use the clasp to enclose the end. Now, take a roll of _one-inch wide_ _black _masking tape and put three strips of it on the front of the package horizontally, starting from one side and going across to the other. The first strip should be three inches from the top of the envelope, the second two inches down from there, the last two more inches down from the middle one. You should end up with a bright yellow envelope with three black stripes going across it. When you have all o' that together, I'll give you a location to drop off the completed package."

Charlie thought out loud as his eyes scanned what he had written. "I can stop by a Kinko's to write up the summary and buy the envelope, the clasps for our summary- probably even the tape. I brought with us Don's medical reports, which are already punch-holed, but I didn't think to bring all of our legal documents- I never thought we'd need them. Are they really necessary? I mean, I hate for us to have to go all the way back to Los Angeles for that one thing."

There was no sound from Billy for several minutes. Finally, he answered with a question of his own. "Charlie, where are you calling me from?"

"Dr. Thompson's kitchen," he replied, unable to help grinning.

A pregnant pause issued over the phone from Billy to Charlie, the former sighing loudly before he began again. "Charlie, I hate to ask the obvious, but, uh, you haven't decided to kidnap Don _tonight_, have you?"

"As it so happens, we are in the middle of doing just that." Charlie held his ear away from the phone, Billy's harsh voice barking obscenities at him. When the agent finally ran out of breath- or choice words, Charlie couldn't decide which- there was a long silence between the men.

At last, Billy began to talk in a reasonable voice again, Charlie putting the phone back to his ear so he could listen. "All right, fine, all right...Um, can I please ask why, if you were plannin' to kidnap Don tonight, you didn't call me a week ago- like, right after your court appearance?"

"We didn't contact you because we didn't _plan _to kidnap Don- it was a spur of the moment decision. Honestly, it never entered our minds until tonight- I guess that would be last night, seeing as technically it's now Sunday morning," Charlie said. "Look, all I can say is, we haven't been thinking clearly for a long time or we never would have let it get to this point. But we are now or we wouldn't be here- and I wouldn't be calling you. Only, I'm a bit perplexed- look, I trust you, but I have to ask again, why do we need all of these things- don't you believe me when I say we had no other choice but to break the law and steal Don away from here?"

"Charlie, no, that's not it. I know the type of person Thompson is- see animals like her all the time in my line of work. I don't care what you do to accomplish it- I know ya have to get Don away from her. But you see- I'm not the person who's actually gonna be helping you. I'm really just a sorta liaison between you guys and the people whose help you're gonna need. Only problem is, it takes time to get them to respond."

Charlie sat down at the kitchen table, pulling the writing tablet with him, disappointed that Billy was not offering his personal help. "So, all of these papers we have to collect- they're for these friends of yours?"

"That's right, Charlie. Look, let me explain."

"I think that would be wise," Charlie told him, beginning to feel sorry he had placed so much faith in Billy to provide a means by which they could get away from Thompson. He began to wonder if they were making a mistake; without immediate help, they were on their own and without any real idea about what they were doing. He did the figures in his head and determined it was statistically probable they would be caught before they made it out of the state. _Hell, we might not even make it out of the county if we're as successful at hiding-out as we were at breaking into Thompson's house. If it weren't for Megan._..he was drawn from these doubts as Billy started his explanation.

"All right, now, there are all these underground networks of people across the country- some even have branches on other continents. You have most likely heard of them; they're organized groups of volunteers who help hide women and their children from abusive husbands or boyfriends, whether the women are the ones being abused or their children."

"We're not women," Charlie stated sullenly, "and Don is not actually a child."

"Listen! That doesn't matter. In the past, the group I'm talking about has been willing to help others in unique situations like yours. Plus, as an added bonus, I have an inside connection to the group, a woman whose name I can't tell you. It's kinda ironic, cause Don's responsible for hooking me up with her - not in a million years would either one of us have thought we'd be contacting her to save him from an abusive- well, what do I call her? Parent can't be right."

Charlie mumbled incoherently.

"What was that?" Billy asked.

"I said you _could _call her his parent- she adopted him last week."

"Oh, hell." Billy's voice cracked. "Is that legal?"

"Yes, Billy, it is," Charlie said angrily into the phone. "You know, we're on a time limit here, so could you just finish what you were saying. I can tell you all about it later- like when I'm no longer at the scene of my crime."

"Sure, Charlie, it's just- adopted. Wow." Charlie could hear the agent shake his head through the phone, as if trying to rid himself of the thought. Then Billy began once again. "I think you should have the whole background story of how I know about this group, so you understand why I trust them. About a year after Don left Fugitive Recovery, I went to visit him in Albuequrque, went to his place and had a couple beers. In the middle of sparring about our jobs he told me about one of his first assignments, which was to look for this woman who had supposedly been hidden by an underground network called Bumblebee Charities. He said she went into hiding because she believed her husband was abusing her daughter- you know, molesting her- and the courts had refused to do anything about it. She was from some other part of the country, but several people called the Bureau, said they had sighted her in New Mexico, so Don's office was assigned to look into the calls, him as lead investigator. Well, Don confessed to me that after reading this woman's files, including all of the petitions and the medical reports she'd submitted to the courts, he'd come to the conclusion she and her daughter needed to _remain _hidden and he, well- he just didn't do his job as thoroughly as he had in Fugitive Recovery. You know what his work ethic is, Charlie- it 'bout tore him apart being kinda lazy in his follow-through on those tips. But what's important to us is that he actually made contact with this woman, warned her away when they were just about to make an arrest and she was able to escape with her daughter; you can imagine how grateful she was to Don for saving them. After I had that conversation with him, I was curious about the network, easily found the woman again, gained her trust by mentioning Don and through her, I've been in contact with the group on and off since then."

Suddenly conscious of all that he was telling Charlie, Billy quickly added, "This is all confidential, ya know. My job is on the line if this ever gets out. This network is aiding and abetting people who the law views as criminals."

"I'd be hanging us all if I ever told anyone."

"Yeah, well, it's better safe than sorry to mention that tiny fact of my job being at risk. Anyway, the group's method of helping a person is to first ask for all the information I told you to gather together, including the family photo. The man in charge likes to personally check the backgrounds of the people asking for help, you know, make sure they're not making false claims. The picture's so he can see their faces before deciding whether or not to let them into the network. He thinks that sometimes you can tell if a person truly needs help by simply looking at them- which is why I thought about Don and his current habits. I bet one look and they would know you were honestly in need of help."

"You mean we have to pass some sort of inspection first?"

"In a way- yes. Charlie, this network is rather large and a lot of people could get into trouble if it were ever compromised. Not just the people they're helping- but all of the volunteers. Like I said, what they do is illegal, so every body they let into the fold is a real risk to every single person involved and the network as a whole. Their leader will want to check to make sure you're legitimate; especially considering Don is still officially a part of the Bureau. We federal agents are the enemy, and if it weren't for this woman Don helped ages ago speaking up for him, I don't think they would even consider offering their services."

"How long will it take for them to pick up our package and review it?"

"They'll pick up the package within an hour of your dropping it off, and it won't take more than a week for it to be placed in the right hands and reviewed before they set up a personal interview. Then once that's over, they'll send you to a safe house until new identities and a permanent placement can be found for you."

Charlie pondered all that he had been told. Billy was correct- it was ironic that a good turn Don had done for an abused woman years before might help keep him from further abuse himself. But they still needed to be approved first, and Charlie continued to be concerned about what they would do in the meantime. A week was a long time- he wished they had contacted Billy last Monday.

_No time to dwell on the past, Chuck._

Charlie could almost hear his brother chastising him with the simple truth of their predicament. The past was done, so there was no point in dwelling on it- even if he had a reason to think about all the 'should-haves' they had not done, there wasn't enough time now for him to do so. And he needed to stop thinking this was all a mistake. If they hadn't intervened tonight, Thompson might have inadvertantly killed Don- they'd really had no choice in coming here. But what were they going to do now? I guess, Charlie said to himself with renewed conviction, whatever we have to do. He flipped a page in the legal pad and started to write down a timeline of the things they would have to get done, all the while talking to Billy. "Okay, first thing, we must return to L.A. to get our legal documentation. Since we have to go there anyway, I'll take a new picture of all four of us, including Don with his rabbit. Do you think I should include a few photos of his back and bottom?"

"What's wrong with them?" Billy hissed.

"They're covered with welts and a couple lacerations- all caused by Thompson. We walked in on her lashing him with a belt. Don called me earlier this evening, asking me for help- that's why we couldn't wait another moment to come here."

"I understand- just wish you had called me earlier, would have prevented it all- but I guess I'm wasting your time saying that again." Billy was breathing heavily through the phone, his temper flaring out through his nostrils in short bursts of air. "I think it would be better if I worry about you guys getting away from that house and into hiding with as little trouble as possible. I presume you have Thompson under control?"

"Don't worry, we do." Charlie stated with confidence. "So, is that a _yes_ to the photos of his back?"

"Definitely- use all the ammunition ya got to convince Bumblebee Charities how dangerous his _mommy _is. But did I hear you right? Did you say there are four of you now?"

"Yes, someone else is joining us- could we just tell them she's our sister?"

"No lying, Charlie. If she has a reason for coming with you, state it honestly in your summary. Any lying will keep you out of the network."

"I guess I'm just trying to protect her identity."

"Charlie," Billy told him, "you have to make a decision right now- can you trust these people with your lives? At the speed that they sometimes have to work, there is often no time for anyone to explain to you why you have to do this or that, especially if the law is knocking on a safe house's front door- you'll have to trust them to know what they're doing and follow their orders. And even when they have time, they won't give you any more information than you need to know, in order to protect the network if you ever get caught. So, if you can't trust these people to handle and care for your lives, say so right now, because then there's no point in going any further with any of this."

"I can trust them," Charlie stated without hesitation, "at this point, I have no choice but to."

"Good," Billy commended him, "or else I'd have wasted all this time talking to you for no good reason."

Charlie wrote a few more words down before responding, "We won't have much time to do all that we need to do once we get back to Los Angeles. We have Thompson bound pretty tight and sedated, but we have no way to know if and when someone might come by and free her. And if no one ever does, well, we'll have to be the ones to call the police to release her and we can't wait days to do it- Don is still emotionally attached to Thompson and we have no idea what it would do to his fragile mental state if he found out she had suffered at our hands. So, to be on the safe side, by tomorrow at the latest, I think we'll have to notify them, to be sure she remains alive and well."

"Leave that to me," Billy said, "I'll have someone notify them first thing in the morning. That should give you about twenty-eight hours. Do you have anywhere you can go for the week- maybe hide out with a distant friend that nobody knows about? Absolutely no relatives- they're the first people law enforcement will check."

Charlie frowned, concentrating. Sighing, he informed Billy, "Not anyone I can think of at the moment."

"Hmm. Well, I tell you what. Get back to L.A. and call me when you have everything in order. I'll check around and see if any of Don's old acquaintances might be able to help."

Alarmed, Charlie asked, "But you won't say anything to give us away, will you?"

"Now, what happened to that trust we were just speaking about," Billy chided him.

"Sorry, momentary lapse of faith. Is there anything else we need, or anything else we need to do?"

"Well, you need as much cash as possible. Usually they require you to sell all of your belongings so you have ready funds for traveling and to survive for six months wherever they set you up, but seeing as in your case you're already on the run, I would think about five, six thousand dollars would cut it; just enough to pay for rental fees and basic items till they can find you new identities and jobs. Oh, I almost forgot. Get rid of anything that identifies you as who you are- not just the obvious things like driver's licenses, debit cards and credit cards, but your cell phones, too, as well as pictures, personal mementos that can be easily traced to you- anything you can think of on your own. Leave the credit cards and cell phones with a friend or family member, and see if you can borrow a car from one of them. While you're at it, pick up one of those cash and carry phones, then call to tell me your new phone number- keep the thing charged, because we'll need to be able to communicate at all times. And have someone hide all of your personal stuff in a place where the network can have easy access to it."

"Why? Do they take our possessions as payment or something?"

"No, Charlie, they use them to help you _hide_. Someone will go pick them up and drive all over the country in your car with them, making purchases with the credit and debit cards and being sure your license plate is seen, making calls on your cells- sends us agents on a nice merry-go-round while you all make a straight escape the other way. Now that I think of it, when you get to your house, make a lot of crazy long-distance phone calls all over the country, mainly to the southern states- hell, even Mexico. When we pull your phone records, it'll confuse the Bureau as to where you were planning to go and since this network mainly stays out of the south, your permanent placement will probably not be anywhere near any place you called."

Charlie wrote this last bit down. "Anything else?"

"If you need any more cash, get it now. Don't use your debit or credit cards after today- using either of those is like sending out a special beacon that the Bureau will home in on immediately."

"I'm aware of that- remember, I worked with Don at the Bureau and before that, the NSA."

"Forgot about that," Billy admitted, "Hey, did you think of using your contacts there to get some help?"

"It crossed my mind, but what we're doing is completely illegal. I don't think any of the people that I know there will be willing to outright break the law- they might give me some legal advice, but help us go on the lam? No way. I decided it best to just leave the NSA out of the equation entirely. Are we finished?"

"Yeah," Billy said slowly, "yeah, I think so. Just remember to call me once you have that new cell phone and when you're ready to make the drop. How long will it take to get back to L.A.?"

"We still have to prepare Don for traveling and make a couple stops- figure we'll be home between five to six hours from now."

"Okay, then I'll call you about nine a.m. to see how you're doing. By the time we speak again, I might even have a place for you to hide over the next week."

"I hope so, because otherwise I'm not sure if we'll be able to make it to that interview with Bumblebee Charities."

"Don't worry, I don't know how yet, but you'll get there." Billy told him good-bye, adding a final directive, "Keep the faith, Charlie"-

"_Keep the faith_."


	7. How We Would Run

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Author's note: I am really sorry for not posting for so long. I got some good advice at chat Friday night and am writing what I can. I have been in a dark mood so I started another story, one that is dark and angsty. But I have been working on this and appreciate anyone who's been hanging around for it. Note to Skywise20: I hope you're not lactose intolerant, cause we might be heading to dairyland. : )

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After Charlie ended his conversation with Billy, he quietly called his father back into the living room and explained everything he had been told they needed to do.

Alan nodded in understanding. "I don't know what we'll do for the next week. The only person outside a family member I would really trust to hide us would be Stan- and I highly doubt the F.B.I. and police would overlook my former business partner as a source to contact when they start searching for Don."

"Same goes for me- I mean, I only have Larry and he's probably the first person they'll ask," Charlie said in agreement. "I guess we'll have to rely on Billy to find someone or we'll be stuck moving place to place."

"With Don in his current condition, I don't think that would be a good idea." Alan sighed heavily. "Maybe Megan has someone we can turn to." He looked back towards Don's bedroom. "While we wait for her, let's get Don out of here so we can be ready to take care of all the things Billy wants us to do as soon as possible. No good finding a place for the next week if we don't get that interview with the underground after that."

Charlie pulled out his keys. "I'll go get the car, pull it around back."

"Wait in it for me- I'll bring out Don."

"Are you sure, Dad?" Charlie asked, hesitating to leave. "I can help when I get back."

"No, that's alright Charlie. Just have the door open and waiting for us."

Charlie quickly headed out the door, slowed as he moved carefully through the wooded land next to Thompson's house, then ran across the street to his car. He drove it out of its hiding place and down to Thompson's, pulling up alongside her driveway and curving into her back yard. He jumped out and had barely managed to get the back door open when his father appeared in the rear exit of Thompson's house, Don slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carrying position. Stealthily, he walked down the few steps leading from the house and over to the car, Charlie helping him maneuver Don into the back seat and onto the blankets layered there. Gently, Charlie swaddled his brother in the blankets, adjusting them so they lay loosely but warmly about him before reaching across his body to take Buddy from his father's hand and slip the stuffed toy under Don's left arm. Finally, Charlie lifted Don's head, snatched a few pillows resting in the back window and laid them on his own lap, then lowered Don's head to rest, lovingly stroking his face and arms to soothe when his brother moaned.

Alan sat in the driver's position and waited for Megan. It was not long before she appeared from the direction of Bob's house, toting a small carrying bag. When she climbed into the car, no one said a word. Alan put the car into drive and pulled away from Thompson's; when they hit the highway, all three of them let out a breath they did not know they had been holding, feeling free to talk at last.

None of them noticed a large motorcycle following them from behind.

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Earlier, Bob Anderson had woken with a start when, in his sleep, he had sensed his back door opening and shutting. Thinking of Megan, he quickly gotten out of bed and searched through his house, noticing his houseguest was nowhere in sight. After throwing on some clothes and grabbing his binoculars and a flashlight, he went outside and began to look for her there, finally noticing the agent crossing the field that separated his house from Thompson's. Hiding behind an outside corner of his home, he watched as Megan made her the way to Thompson's and eventually broke in the back door, both startling and impressing the old man.

Then all Bob could do was wait to see what she did next.

It was several hours later when he saw Megan heading back to his house, a determination in her steps. Bob thought about asking the agent what she was doing but correctly assumed that she would not want to reveal her plans. So, he went back into his bedroom and climbed into bed, pretending to be asleep. He was not there long before he heard his door open briefly before it was shut again. Sitting up, he could hear Megan packing her things and then leave.

He left his room and found a note pinned to his refrigerator, a short apology from Megan that she had to head back home because of a family crisis that she would explain later.

Hmmph! Bob thought. Something's going on.

He grabbed his binoculars and went outside again, stared at Thompson's house until his eyes settled on her backyard. There was a car parked there that Megan was heading towards and he had seen that the driver was Donny's father, his younger son sitting in the back.

Darn fools! Bob thought. They were obviously taking off with Donny and thought they could do it on their own and he was hurt that Megan had not asked for his help. Knowing the group wouldn't think of killing Thompson (though oh boy, he thought, I'd love to), the old man decided he better watch their backs because it wouldn't be long before that wicked witch would be after them. He went into his garage, threw on his motorcycle gear, and emerged on his new Harley with side seat just in time to see Alan's car heading towards the highway.

Bet they're going back to L.A., he thought grimly as he kept off his headlights and followed them, knowing the road by heart. When the car in front of him entered an entrance ramp, he was sure they were planning on returning to the big city though he couldn't figure out why. Surely it would be the first place Thompson would look for them. Deciding it would be best to ask questions later, Bob cautiously turned on his headlights and began to commence a thorough and efficient job of tailing the Eppes and Megan, his blood racing with the thrill of being part of something exciting for the first time in-

well, the old man had to admit, he didn't know how many years, but this type of subterfuge was a long time a-comin' to him.

It was just what he needed to make his old bones feel alive.

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Alan repeated Billy's directions to Megan, who shook her head and stated she unfortunately knew no one who would be able to provide them sanctuary for a week.

With a wry grin he told her. "I guess we rely on Billy. Never thought I'd live long enough to say those words."

Once they were in L.A. and in the general vicinity of their neighborhood, they made several stops.- at the drug store for more medical supplies for Don, at a Kinko's to get the packaging to make their parcel for the underground network, at a superstore to pick up a prepaid cell phone, a gas station to refill the tank of the car, an ATM to withdraw five hundred dollars from each of their bank accounts.

By eight-thirty that morning, Alan pulled into their driveway. He and Charlie made no move to leave the car, both Eppes men sadly realizing they would be entering their home for the last time, the solemnity of that not having sunk in so deeply the first time they had left but hitting them hard now that they had committed a crime and stolen Don, those actions solidifying the reality of their plans. Their eyes rolled over the house, memories flooding through them as each noticed something that tugged at his heart- the tree he climbed with his brother, the yard where his sons once fought over a girl, the window his mother used to stand in to watch him and his brother leave and come home from school, the porch he saw his son kiss his first girlfriend on, the sidewalk he drew his first algorithms on in chalk. They were leaving so much more than a physical location behind- both men knew they were leaving their lives and all of the wonderful memories that comprised them.

Then Don moved and whispered, "Charlie?" and the attentions of both men were drawn from the house and back to what they considered was more important in their lives- their family, living flesh and blood.

Bravely, Charlie opened his door, placing his foot outside, ready to take the next step that would lead him away from all that he had once considered so indispensable in his life. In response, Alan slid out of the car and came around to help Charlie lead the still-exhausted Don into the house. They grappled with him, keeping him wrapped in the blankets and holding him up on either side, Megan leading the way up the stairs and opening the door, letting the men enter before shutting the door behind them.

Moments later, Bob drove slowly up the street and parked in their neighbor's driveway. When nobody came out to complain, he shut off his bike and took up post, waiting.

Inside, Charlie and Alan laid Don on the living room couch, the elder man sitting beside his son and lulling him back to sleep with a few words and strokes through his hair; then Charlie went to the garage and got busy with the papers Billy had requested they gather while Megan made something for them to eat.

Promptly at nine, Billy called Charlie's cell. "How's everything coming?"

"Fine so far," Charlie said as he typed up a summary report of all of their backgrounds, "we bought everything we needed and I've just started work on it."

"Found a place to stay yet?"

"No, we were hoping you'd come through with one."

"Well, that I might- don't want to make any promises, but I think I'm on to something. You get that new cell yet?"

"Yeah." Charlie gave Billy the number. "When we finish here, we'll ditch my current one."

"Call me when you're done compiling everything together- by then, I should have some details about where you can hide out this next week. And I'll tell you where to make your drop."

"Till then." Charlie shut his phone and began to work steadily, stopping long enough to wolf down a turkey sandwich offered by Megan then back on task once again. At one point, he had his father and Megan position themselves next to the still-sleeping Don, hold him upright with Buddy lying limply in his arms, and then took a portrait of them, sitting on the floor in front of the couch himself before the timer on his camera could go off. Afterwards, he carefully peeled the bandages up from Don's back and took varied photos of the damage Thompson had done to him. When finished, he returned to his workspace, printed out the pictures and put them together with the Don's legal papers and physicals as well as the history he had written for them and their reason for wanting to run. Looking at the notes he'd taken from his conversation with Billy, Charlie stuffed everything into the required envelope and sealed it according to directions. As an afterthought, he looked up the white pages for several southern states and printed out a list of random numbers.

On his way to join his family and Megan in the living room, Charlie stopped at their home phone and dialed numbers from his list until he got answers from ten strangers, talked to them apologetically long enough to establish that he may have had an actual reason for calling them, contacted some old friends of his in the NSA, and ended by calling others he knew from his stay at Oxford. When he hung up from the last person he'd talked to, he joined his comrades in crime.

"Okay, that's all done. I guess we need to decide if there's anything else to do before we head out."

"I think we should decide where to put our IDs and credit cards," Alan suggested, "and if we have any way of getting more money. We have less than two thousand dollars and I don't think that will take us very far. Didn't Billy say we needed five or six?"

"Yeah," Charlie answered, rubbing his chin, "we took out our limit for the ATM. I'm afraid I don't have any other cash lying around- how 'bout you?"

"No, Charlie." Both men looked at Megan.

"Sorry," she said, "but I'm not one to carry much cash around."

"We could ask Larry," Charlie suggested.

"No," Alan shook his head, "I don't want to get any friends or family members involved who might have a lot to lose. And that includes Larry."

Charlie smiled wanly. "I guess I already knew that. I just can't figure out who we could turn to. Uncle Morty would want to help, but he's running for city council next month- he wouldn't get many votes if he were to be found guilty of a felony."

"Not necessarily," Megan smirked, "depends on which district he's representing."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "In any case, he's out."

"Well," Megan said seriously, "I don't think my father would approve of giving me any money. He helped me get Don into the institute but he told me it would be the only thing he'd ever do to help "those friends of yours". And honestly, he is not one to hand over a penny without some kind of reasonable explanation, so I doubt he would without knowing what we're doing, and if he did...uh, odds are he wouldn't give me anything anyway."

They all sat thinking for a while before Charlie spoke again, sighing. "I hate to say it, but I do know one person who has ready cash, would be willing to give it to us, would hide anything we asked her to hide until the network needed it _and _has nothing to lose if they found out she helped us."

"Who?" Megan and Alan asked.

Charlie's eyes met Alan's, who suddenly knew who his son was talking about. Abruptly standing then pacing back and forth, he adamantly stated, "No way, Charlie. She'd never let me forget it."

"Dad, Aunt Irene is an old-fashioned, tough old cookie. She could stand up to the most persistent questioning by any branch of law enforcement, she'd guard our car and IDs with her life," Alan started to protest again, but Charlie cut him off, "and most importantly, according to what Mom told me and Don, she still hides a lot of her savings in, of all places, the lining of her mattress. As much as I hate to do it, we need to go to Aunt Irene's."

Alan hung his head and ran his fingers across his brow, easily giving in to his son's persuasion. "I guess we better pray no one _we_ know tries to arrest her. They'd never survive being in her presence more than an hour."

Charlie grinned momentarily before turning his attention to Don. He kneeled in front of him and lowered a hand to his brow, frowning at the heat he felt there. "I think I better change his clothes and give him some Tylenol. I bought the liquid-type at the pharmacy so it'd be easier for him to swallow." While Alan busied himself with getting Don into a vertical position, Charlie bound up the stairs and grabbed a few stray clothes he hadn't bothered to pack, a damp washcloth and a towel as well as fresh blankets. Down again he went, dropped those items off in the living room, went out to the car for a few medical supplies before back inside, and then he shooed Megan from the room so he and his father could wipe down his brother, change his clothes, and put fresh dressings on his wounds.

When finished, they gave Don the medicine and then wrapped him and Buddy in the clean blankets before leading him out to the car and settling him in the back, Megan bringing along any required items and packing them in the car, including their ever-important application to the underground, which she dropped between her and Alan in the front seat.

Before they left, Charlie used his new cell phone to call Billy.

Without formality, Billy asked, "You all set?"

"Basically, yes. Right now we're heading to my Aunt Irene's to drop off our personal items and acquire some more cash."

"Good. Let me tell you where to drop your package." Billy gave him an address, which Charlie duly noted. "There's a mail slot on the side of the door, just drop your package in there. They'll be in contact with me before the end of the week and I'll relay to you everything they say."

"Fine, only…uh, we haven't thought of anybody who could hide us till then."

"Well, I got a hold of an old friend of Don's- yours, too, by the way. Guess you worked a couple cases together."

Charlie's brow furrowed. "You don't mean Terry, do you? I thought she was in Washington and, quite frankly, as straight-laced as she is about following the rules, I wouldn't have thought she'd offer the kind of help we're looking for."

"No, no," Billy chuckled, "you've got that right- no way she'd ever help ya like that. I'm talking about Ian- Ian Edgerton."

"How'd you know we worked together?"

"Me and Don know him from Quantico- he taught us how to shoot- and when I saw him not too long ago, he told me then he'd worked a couple cases with you two. But that wasn't enough for me to ask him for help- he actually offered it up on his own. Let me tell you, all I did was contact an old buddy of Don's, throw out some generalities about the situation and next thing I know, Edgerton's calling me on the phone saying he has a place for you guys to hangout for the next week. When they say one of his fathers was Yoda…"

Charlie couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his mouth. "Yeah, the guy can give you the heebie-jeebies alright."

"Back to business, do you remember the last case you and Don worked with him? Edgerton said it had something to do with a drug company poisoning some cattle on a ranch up in," Billy paused a moment, "uh, Silver City."

"Yeah, I do," Charlie said confusedly, "what about it?"

"According to Edgerton, you were able to prove that a fugitive up there wasn't guilty of shooting a federal marshal. Let me see, the guy's name was…was"-

"Brian McHugh," Charlie finished for him.

"Yeah, that's it. Well, apparently after you and Don testified in his favor, they gave him a greatly reduced sentence for all the other charges against him. He'll be out in two years instead of getting life- or the death penalty."

"He deserved a break after all that happened to him. I'm glad that we were able to help him out."

"I'm not disagreeing with your decision. And neither is his wife. Apparently, according to Edgerton, she's so grateful for all you and Don did for her husband she's willing to let you hide out at her ranch for the next week-provided you can get there."

Charlie raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're kidding me?"

"No, Charlie, I am dead serious. I actually think it's a brilliant suggestion because, using one of your words, the _odds _are highly against anyone thinking to look for you guys on the property of someone Don arrested."

"I have to admit, I think the odds are definitely in our favor on that one."

"Good, so we're agreed. Now, Edgerton has already left to get the place aired out- he'll stay there till you arrive, make sure you don't need anything. I just need to know if you remember how to get there."

"It's straight up the coast, first exit after the Silver City billboard."

"Good, good. Let me give you Edgerton's number in case you get lost." Charlie easily memorized it. "I guess all that's left for me to do is wish you good luck."

"Thanks for everything, Billy. When can I expect to hear from you again?"

"Let's make it Thursday, but if you run into any problems before then, make sure you call me."

"I will. Later."

After finishing his conversation, Charlie leaned into Megan's open window and handed over his cell so it could be hooked up to charge, "Dad, I'm going to do one last go-through to make sure we didn't forget anything."

"Okay, but don't take too long."

Once inside, Charlie quickly went upstairs and did a thorough check of all the rooms, darted downstairs to the kitchen, dining and living rooms, and then the solarium. As a last measure, he went inside the garage, relieved to have made the last round as his laptop was sitting on the bench in the middle of the room. He closed it down and put it in its case, moving towards the door.

He stopped at one of his chalkboards on the way out, lingering.

Lovingly, he ran his palm across the smooth board, caressing the feel of chalk dust between his fingertips. "We've been through a lot together," he thought wistfully as he took one last look around the room, "you've been faithful friends all these years, even helping me cope with the death of my mother. I'll really miss working with you." He closed his eyes and made a mental image of the sanctuary within his home, allowing himself a few minutes to mourn the loss, one he hadn't been allowed when his purpose had been primarily on saving Don as soon as possible- but now, he was more conscious than ever of all that he was to lose.

And as his focus faded from the garage and back onto his brother, never was he more conscious of what he was to gain.

Shutting down the lights, Charlie walked boldly from the garage, all of his mind sharply attuned to Don and the long journey they had ahead of them. When Charlie opened the backdoor of the car and slid back under Don's head, cushioning it with the pillows once again, he stared down towards his brother's sleeping face.

He thought of all the years he and Don had spent separated from each other, of all the times that he chased after Don and had never been able to catch up, never been able to get him to slow down, never been able to get him to _stop_.

This time was different, though, this time Don had wanted Charlie's help so he had stopped for him, waited to get what he wanted from the person he needed.

This time was different.

It was not like the help Don had wanted when he asked him to work on a case.

Or even like the times when Don had asked for him to pay attention to their dying mother.

This time, Don had called for Charlie to help _him._

Not to work a case.

Not to care for someone else.

But to help _him_ because he needed Charlie, his brother.

As their father pulled away from their family home for what might be the last time in his life, Charlie continued to think about Don and how his brother had always run from him.

For the first time in their lives, Charlie truly believed Don had stopped to wait for one reason only- to allow his little brother to catch up.

_And now_, he thought warmly as he cuddled Don-

_We will run together_.

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A slight moan, a small struggle, gritting teeth.

Melinda's eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to concentrate, wake up from the sedative dissipating from her system. An overall ache throbbed throughout her body, a combination of singular points where she could feel she'd been hit and a grouping of muscles that were cramping from lying in the same position for hours.

Pain, frustration, remembrance-

_They took him from me!_

Adrenaline thrust through her veins and quickly dispelled the last cloud of confusion from her mind. Desperately, she tried to move her arms and legs, crying out in fury when she could not do so.

_They took him from me- and I must get him back._

She twisted her arms and legs, out of control, her emotions seizing her in their grip and tormenting the woman as she vainly tried to pull from her bindings. She crooked her neck and stared at the tape wound tightly around her arms, a small sob escaping her throat at the futility of her struggles.

_Thieves! Kidnappers! Bastards!_

Melinda laid her head back down and stared at the ceiling, bit her lip as hard as she could, focused on the incoming pain until she could concentrate, think. Breathing deeply through her nose, she shifted her hip over towards her hand, lifted it a bare inch so her fingers could reach inside and search for them- were they still there?

_Yes!_

With great care, she snagged her key ring and slid it out, manipulated it so she could reach the nail clippers attached at one end, taking almost fifteen minutes to use her pinky to push out the metal file that had been folded away.

Melinda took a small rest.

Then she bent her wrist and inserted the file at a perpendicular angle to the tape, shoved it upward, smiled in triumph when it broke through a quarter inch.

_Don't worry, baby-_

_Mommy's coming for you!_


	8. Who We Would Turn To

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Author's note: I am really, really sorry I am taking so long. Each day this week, I thought I could write then I got home too late to do it till today. At least Christmas break is coming up in a month and a half- I can write every day then and knock this thing out. Thanks for your patience.

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Megan stepped out of the car and pulled open the back door so Charlie could slide out from under Don, whose worn body had kept him in a steady slumber well into the early afternoon. Alan was the last to leave the safety of the vehicle, making sure the doors were locked before placing a foot on the concrete of the driveway where they were parked. He was attempting to catch up with Charlie and Megan when out from the house in front of them bound a short, plump woman with arms extended and legs moving quicker than her size and age should have allowed.

"Charlie!" Aunt Irene wrapped her arms around her nephew, squeezing him tightly and planting three large kisses on his face. She stepped back, clasping his hands in her own, completely ignoring the other people present as she assessed his appearance. "Too skinny," she proclaimed. "You must come inside and eat something."

"Aunt Irene," he argued weakly, "we don't have time."

"There's always time to eat."

"I had something before we came."

"And how about that brother of yours? When's the last time he was fed?"

While they drove, Charlie had tried to wake Don up enough so that they _could_ give him something to eat when they reached their aunt's house, but his brother had been too exhausted to do any more than whine he was sleepy and Charlie hadn't the heart to make him to stay awake. Charlie supposed they'd have to force something into him when they got to Silver Springs, but until then, he wanted to let him rest. So he lied to his Aunt Irene, feeling a ping of guilt for doing it. "He ate along with us. Really, we don't have much time."

Alan joined them, reiterating his son's statement. "Irene, really, we need to leave as soon as possible. This is just supposed to be a short stop for us."

Flustered, Irene protested, "I have no idea how long I'll have to wait till I see Maggie's babies again and you want to rush out of here before I have a chance to say a decent goodbye!"

As the elderly woman continued her rant, Alan turned back to the car, rolling his eyes at Charlie as he did so. "Come on, let's get Don." By the time they had helped him into the house Don had awoken, hidden under several layers of blankets and curling up in the corner of Irene's couch, sucking his thumb, blearily looking for Charlie. His brother had gone into the kitchen and was trying to find something that Don could easily eat, closely supervised by his aunt, who was again chatting away cheerfully.

Alan gave Don a slight ruffle to his head to reassure him, left Megan in the corner to stand as an unobtrusive guard, and then with some trepidation went into the kitchen, interrupting Irene's brisk reminisces by explaining what their plans were and what help they needed from her. Without reservation, Irene went into her bedroom, Alan stepping back into the living room to wait for her. Irene returned shortly with a sealed baggie full of money and a set of car keys. Megan took the keys and headed outside, leaving Alan and Irene alone.

"That's close to eight thousand dollars," the old woman said handing it over, guiltily adding, "it'd be more, but me and the girls took a little trip to Vegas last month and I guess maybe I spent a _wee bit_ too much."

"Irene, I honestly don't know how to thank you."

The old woman surprised Alan and took his hand, looking him directly in the eye. "Take care of her babies, Alan, promise me you will. If Maggie had been alive today, that woman would never have gotten within a mile of Donny again."

"I know, Irene," Alan said sadly, "We tried our best to protect him, but it just wasn't enough."

"Well, now," she patted him on the hand, "you're more than making up for any of your mistakes by taking him away and protecting him now."

It was Alan's turn to surprise the old woman as he quickly hugged her, bringing a flush to her cheeks. Charlie walked in on their truce and grinned. Alan and Irene separated, trying not to look in each other's direction.

Charlie commented, "I think Mom would be glad you two have decided to get along."

"Hmmph," Irene said with a tilt of her chin, giving Alan her meanest scowl, "_he_ was hugging _me_, most certainly not the other way around."

Alan shook his head, winked his eye at her before telling his son, "She's right, Charlie, but I was only hugging her so I could remain on my feet. I think she must have tripped me or something and I was just using her stout body for balance."

Before Irene could reply, he slipped from the room and went to look for Megan.

"I couldn't find anything Don could eat," Charlie said in an attempt to gain her attention and keep her mind off retaliating against his father, "unless you have a food processor, something we could grind his food with." He glanced at Don, who had fallen into a light sleep once again. "He has difficulty swallowing and most of the food you have is the wrong texture for him to chew."

"I'll look for something, dear heart. You go help your father switch cars."

Charlie checked Don over and left the house, trusting he would be safe with their aunt. Outside, Megan and Alan were already unloading their car, having backed out an old station wagon from Irene's garage. Stepping across the pile of items lying on the driveway, Charlie made his way to their trunk and began to help. While he hefted up a particularly heavy suitcase, out of the corner of his eye he noticed someone several houses over watching them.

Carefully, he released the suitcase and walked as nonchalantly as he could to where Megan and Alan were loading the back of the wagon.

"Hey," he said nervously when next to them, "I think we have company."

Alan and Megan froze. "Where?" she asked.

"Come to the back of the car with me- you can see him standing at a house down the block- he's near the end of their driveway, hiding behind a hedge."

"You keep packing," Megan told Alan, "I'll see what he's talking about."

When they got to the rear of their car, Megan turned over a suitcase in the trunk and opened it, pretending to check its contents. Charlie leaned in towards her and whispered, "He's over there, five houses down on your right." Megan shifted her body so she could peer down the street. The sun was already descending and it blinded her, but it was not long before she made out the unclear head of a man peeking around the corner of the hedge, obviously watching them.

"I see him," she said, turning back towards Charlie. "Maybe he's just curious about your aunt having guests."

"Maybe, but, I don't know, something about him...he's old, that's for sure and Aunt Irene's neighbors are up there in age. But, still, the shape of his head reminds me of someone..." Suddenly, he grasped Megan's arm. "That's not Fairfield, is it? I mean, he's old and, and, smart; he could have followed us here."

"No, Fairfield's got a smaller head and more height on him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Charlie. Once a man gets to a certain age, they all get that white hair and wrinkles of course, usually start to slouch...it's easy to think they look alike at a glance if you don't know how to pick out particular characteristics, such as head size, height, even stature." Megan began to pack the suitcase again. "Besides, how would Fairfield know to follow us- or from where? He wasn't at Thompson's or your house, and I doubt he just happened to see us driving along. Even if he did, Don was below eye level in the backseat, so it's doubtful _anybody_ seeing us would even know he was with us...It's most likely just a neighbor. Though," Megan stopped, thinking that maybe there _was_ something familiar about that head. She took one more look, covering her eyes against the glare of the sun and staring pointedly at the man, gasping when she realized who he was. "Bob Anderson," she told Charlie, and then she crossed her arms. Apparently, even at a distance Bob could read her body language as recognition of his identity, so he came from behind the hedge and slowly walked up the sidewalk to the front of Irene's house.

"Bob, you old fox," Megan chastised him, "how did you get here?"

"Hi, Professor Eppes," Bob embarrassedly greeted Charlie, whose brows wrinkled in confusion at the old man's appearance in front of his aunt's house, so far from Alta Sierra. "I, uh, followed ya'll when you took off early this mornin'. Just like a spy."

"Why would you do that?" Charlie asked. He hoped the old man hadn't seen them take Don from Thompson's house and was there to try to talk them out of leaving. If so...he had no idea what they'd do. He was the man responsible for their having found Don to begin with and there was no way they would even think about tying him up until they made their escape. So, Charlie waited with apprehension until the old man could explain.

"I wanted to see if I could help you."

"Help us what?" Megan eyed Bob. She wasn't sure how much he knew about what they had done, so she didn't want to give any information away.

"Help you kidnap Donny."

"Oh," Megan sighed. _There's nothing to give away._

"Don't worry, I won't say anything. I just wanted to make sure you made a clean getaway. Don't figure you killed the old witch and if she gets free, well, ya never know who you'll need to turn to for help."

"Bob!" Alan joined them, "how did you get here?"

They listened as the old man explained how he had watched Megan go to Thompson's house and how he'd followed them thereafter. "Came on my cycle. I have to meet Jimmy and my crew not too far from here, anyway, so I thought I'd kill some time and make sure you were all right before taking off."

Megan put her arm around him. "Bob, we appreciate your concern, but we have everything under control and we're going to be fine. So," Megan began walking the man back down towards the sidewalk, "let's say you hop back on your cycle and head out of here. As soon as we can, we'll let you know we're safe."

Bob opened his mouth to agree when a screechy yell came from Aunt Irene's house.

"Alan, Charlie- I think you better come inside."

They both hurried into the house, followed quickly by Megan and Bob.

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"What's wrong, Irene?" Alan asked worriedly when they entered the house.

Charlie moved around his father so he could check that Don was fine, frightened his brother was injured worse than they had supposed. He stopped before reaching Don, stunned to find his brother resting his head against their aunt's chest, contentedly drinking a baby bottle full of pink liquid, his eyes shut. Seeing the disapproving look on Charlie and Alan's faces, Irene explained, "I kept Libby's grandbaby three times a week last month and she left these here, just plum forgot them, and Donny was sucking his thumb so it occurred to me that maybe he wouldn't mind suckin' a bottle." She kissed Don gently on the forehead. "And you didn't baby, now did you?"

Don wearily looked up at her. When she kissed him a second time, he re-closed his eyes and pressed more firmly against her, drinking stronger than before. Irene looked at her guests. "See? He's fine- just like when he was little and Maggie would bring him to visit."

Alan could tell by the strained expression on Charlie's face that his youngest son was fighting to keep his temper in check. Quietly, he told his son, "We have other things to worry about. Thompson had Don for a week and we don't know what other setbacks we might encounter, so please, let it go. We can't do anything about it now."

Charlie squeezed his hands into fists, his breath coming in short, harsh bursts."Okay, fine, at least he's getting something to eat." Still, his anger did not subside. Seven days had been longer than he'd thought and Charlie wondered if they would be starting Don's rehabilitation from square one.

"Irene, you called us in here for a reason?" Alan asked, satisfied that Charlie had his emotions under control.

Don had finished feeding and the old woman pulled the nipple from his mouth. Slipping out from under him, she patted him on the head and motioned her guests into her dining room. "I just got a call from Morty," she said anxiously, "he said some people came by looking for you. _Cops_, he said."

Alan, Megan, and Charlie exchanged astonished looks.

Megan was the first to speak. "How could they know already?"

Charlie asked his father, "I thought you made sure she was bound real tight?"

"I did Charlie," Alan responded with uncertainty in his voice, "maybe her lawyer stopped by- or a friend."

"Don't remember her having any visitors but that once," Bob piped in, "bet she got loose."

They looked at the old man, who stood against the kitchen door. Irene noticed him for the first time and raised her hands to her head, straightening it the best she could. "I don't believe you've introduced me to your friend, Alan."

With a start, Alan could see that Irene and Bob were eyeing each other with intense interest. _I do not have time for this,_ he thought warily, but still he said, "Irene Mann, may I introduce you to Bob Anderson- Bob Anderson, Irene Mann. And yes, neither of you is married." Both the old man and woman glared at Alan. "Now that the formalities are over, can we try to figure out a way to keep us from getting arrested, because I suspect getting to Silver City is going to be a _wee bit_ more difficult than we first suspected?"

Megan jumped in, "We're almost done packing the station wagon, but if, I mean when, they come here, part of routine inspection will be the garage and alley. When they see our car parked inside, all they'll have to do is run a search for the make and license plate of Irene's car, put an APB out on it, and it won't be long before they find us."

"I won't let them near my garage," Irene insisted, "not without a search warrant and that'd take time, wouldn't it?"

Megan responded, "They don't need one to just look in the window. I'm afraid we can drive your car for a little while, but not long enough to get us to Silver City."

Charlie rocked back and forth, thinking. "How bout we switch Aunt Irene's car for another one. If you don't mind?" he asked her.

"No, baby, do what you have to in order to save your brother," she replied.

"Now, who can we trade with?" Charlie wondered aloud. He turned toward Bob, "Do you think Jimmy would let us use his?"

"Would have, but Cheryl's got it at her parents' house. Jimmy and I are riding our cycles up to Monroe Preservation so he didn't figure on needing it till next week."

Megan rolled her neck, releasing the tension that was building there. "Getting another car might not do us any good if they have roadblocks set up on the main highways out of town."

"Roadblocks?" Charlie asked, "they didn't do that the first time Don disappeared."

"That was different," she replied, "we didn't know for sure what had happened to him and it was also a couple days after the fact. If Thompson _is_ free, she'll have reported this as a kidnapping and since it's within hours of when we actually took Don, they'll try to prevent us from leaving the state. He is, after all, still a federal agent. Though I wonder what made them think we had come back to L.A."

"Phone calls," Charlie said glumly, "all they had to do was check when our phone was used last- and I used it to make all of those calls before we came here."

Alan sank into a chair. "It sounds like it'll be impossible for us to get out of town."

No one responded, the futility of their situation blatant and overwhelming.

"Well, not necessarily," Bob said, drawing their attention. "Ain't there an old saying, 'can't see the forest for the trees'?" At their puzzled but intrigued looks, he tried to explain, "well, now, I think you might be able to get through if we do the reverse- ya know, 'can't see the trees for the forest'."

Several moments passed as they wondered what the old man was talking about. Finally, Charlie spoke, "Okay, Bob, just what do you have in mind?"

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It was a large car lot, a small hut in the middle with only enough room for the owner and a potential customer to sit comfortably inside, dirt swirling up around the old heaps for sale that had apparently seen better days. It was completely surrounded by a mesh fence with blue vinyl ribbon interwoven through the slots so as to prevent any passersby from seeing the activities that were taking place inside on the days it was closed. Usually, those activities were nothing more unseemly than replacing the good tires of a newly-acquired car with those that were fair, tossing the better ones upon a heap that were for individual sale; or the painting over of scratch marks with a bottle of nail polish and a small jar of paint; or, in the worst case scenario, replacing a bumper and grill so front-end damage was not apparent to the unobservant eye.

None of which was illegal, though not necessarily moral.

Today, though, things were different. For behind this fence there was gathered a small heap of men who had seen _much _better days, and they were being talked into doing something completely illegal.

Though from their point of view, not necessarily immoral.

Bob Anderson, with his grandson by his side, stood in the center of a circle of old World War II veterans, twelve men all in full uniform and with medals glinting brightly in the afternoon light. He was speedily telling his buddies that his young friends were in need of a way to get out of town, that the police and FBI were after them, and that they were their only chance to escape capture. The old men squinted across the lot towards the station wagon and three people standing outside it, all near the entranceway and nervously waiting for their decision.

A tall, thin man spat towards the ground. "What'er they wanted fer?"

"Don't have time for explainin'," Bob spat back at him. "They gotta get goin' now."

Another man spoke up from the rear. "Your askin' for us to trust them without even knowin 'em."

"You know _me_, don't cha," Bob growled. As another man went to open his mouth, Bob cut him off. "Only known you boys for o'er fifty years, that don't mean much, I suppose."

He stared straight at each man, one by one, daring them to say something else.

All but one of the men lowered their heads in shame.

"Look here boys," Bob continued, "I'm tellin' you these are _good _people. Either you trust me or you don't. That's all I'm askin'- _yes or no_- do you trust me?"

A short, rotund man answered for the group. "We trust you, Bob, only, we've got these reservations for the Preserves. It took us two years to get everything a-goin' and we'll blow the whole thing if we ain't up there by nine exact. This sidestep to Silver City means there's no way we'll make it up to the preserves in time."

His face falling to one of sympathy, Bob told them, "I know this trip has been a long time a-comin'. We've lost four of our guys in the past year alone trying to get this together- God bless 'em, they made their final trip without us. But me and Jimmy, we've waited just as long as you fellows and we're willing to give it up for those folks over there. That's how important this is."

The dozen veterans again cast a look across the yard, hesitant to commit.

The rotund man spoke again. "We're kinda old to be trying to skirt the law…"

Bob began to plead, "Fellas, please"-

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A man pushed his way to the front of the group, trying to stand tall despite the prevalent hunch of his back. "You think you gotta beg us, like we some old dogs tryin' to learn a new trick." He stood beside Bob and addressed the group. "Sure as hell don't wanta escort some yuppies up north, but we been asked by our brother and code of honor says we can't say no."

Several men mumbled in reply.

"Come on," he continued, "shouldn't be too much trouble- we made it past worsen obstacles in dubya dubya two- and Bob ain't talkin' bout us takin' on no Nazis. Cops- hmmph. Nothing to 'em."

One crotchety old vet, standing several feet from the general group, growled angrily, "They's prob'ly some see-eee-ohs stolen the pension of working Joes like us. That's not the same as savin' innocen' Jews."

"Sal," the man beside Bob replied, folding his arms across his chest, "we's a doin' this whether you're happy 'bout it or not- 'cause you never happy anyhow." Rallying the rest of the group a final time, he proclaimed, "Consider this our last hurra', boys. Let's line up the troops."

Bob knew his old war buddies had been won over when they began puffing out their chests and smoothing their uniforms, their intent to help evident by the gleam sparkling in each of their eyes.

"Well, come on," Bob told them, "let's give 'em the good news."


	9. How We Got to Ian

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

A/N: I'm ready to try balancing this and Alleyways (will be posting the next chapter of that in a few days, in case you're reading that). Thanks for waiting.

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It took a lot less time than they figured it would to get on the road.

Charlie slipped on the uniform that Bob had planned to wear; Alan was given an extra field jacket to put on, and once he and Charlie slipped on their helmets and riding gloves, they blended in with the rest of the veterans- at least, if given a cursory look. Megan tied up her hair and bundled up in several layers of clothes before dropping a helmet on her head and climbing in the side-seat of Bob's ride, which Alan was all set to drive. Hoping to keep the police from peering too close, they put a formal jacket on Don with the right sleeve pinned up, his arm inside with Buddy held tightly underneath; they supposed people would respectfully avoid looking directly at him if they thought he was missing an arm. After pushing some pillows down low in the second side-seat, they carefully helped Don into it, placing a helmet on his head. Then Charlie sat on the Harley, thankful it had three wheels; otherwise, he knew he would never be able to hold the thing up on his own. It was too heavy and he was too small.

"You sure you guys can drive those things?" A vet leaned over and asked Alan.

"Hippy back in the seventies," Alan explained, "rode plenty of hogs with my wife."

"Hmph," the old man grunted, "and what about him?" He nodded towards Charlie.

"Oh, no problem," Alan grinned, "he did this research last year on inertia and learned to control quite an array of vehicles- believe it or not, he's able to steer a bike better than a car." With Alan's mention of research, the old man grumbled under his breath, wondering if they were escorting a group of commie scientists. Before he could ask Alan directly, the leader of the group came up, interrupting the conversation. "I'm Jeb," he said, holding out a hand.

Alan shook it.

"Okay," Jeb continued, "you jus' stays in the middle, leave the leadin' to us. See that there thingamajig on the side of your helmet."

Alan and Charlie reached to the sides of their heads, felt around until they found what the guy was talking about and then they nodded. "Good," Jeb said, "that's a walkie-talkie kind-o like. Press this here button and you all can talk. Jus' lissen when you wanta hear me. Got it?"

"Yes," Alan replied. While the man went to get on his bike, Alan showed Megan how to use the mike.

Then they were off.

Jeb took the lead, heading out of the gate, Jimmy and Bob standing on either side to lock it up when they had all passed through. Charlie and Alan surged forward with duo jolts, following three men in front of them. Once outside the car lot, a single man took up position on either side of them, three more drove behind them and a solitary man took up the far rear.

It wasn't until they were nearly to the highway that Alan and Charlie got the hang of things, were able to keep the steady pace of the riders around them and adjust their speed to faster or slower when the rest of their caravan did likewise. Soon, they went up an entry-ramp and were on the highway, heading northwards to Silver City- and hopefully, escape.

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Melinda Thompson sat in the office of Assistant Director Merrick, eyeing the man, weighing her options. It had been over twelve hours since they had stolen her son and yet, despite the best efforts of the varied law enforcement offices that were searching for him, not a trace of him could be found.

It perturbed her to no end.

But she kept her feelings in check. At some point in the near future- maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow- but _sometime _soon, news of her son was bound to reach the ears of the FBI. Problem was, she was positive that when it occurred she was going to be the last person to know. This was going to create a big problem for her. Melinda knew if she wanted to keep her son, it was imperative that she be allowed access to him the moment he was sighted. Then she coul sweep him up and away from prying eyes so she could assess how much damage had been done to him while he was away from her; once that was determined, she could quickly cure him if the damage was extensive. Melinda knew any delay in proper treatment was a sure guarentee that she would lose her little boy.

Wherein lay the crux of the problem, because Melinda was convinced no one in this office was going to come rushing to tell her when they found her son. At least, no one she had met thus far.

Too many people had brushed her aside when she had been brought to the Bureau offices by helicopter earlier that evening, none of them giving regard to anything she had to say, most of them glaring at her with vehemence until a secretary had come for her and ushered her in here.

To the man before her- Merrick.

Melinda coldly calculated her odds on gaining this man's confidence, or more bluntly, bribing him into telling her when her son was found. Unfortunately, she found the odds impossible. Clearly, he had only brought her in here because of the demands of his superior.

Director Donaldson-

Now there was a man who could be reasoned with.

Donaldson was politically motivated in everything he did, his innermost desire to head a more favorable post in Washington outside the Bureau. And Thompson, of course, had the means and connections to at least help him along his way. Thus, not only had that power helped her escape kidnapping charges to begin with, but it was also the reason all stops had been pulled out in the Bureau's quest to find her son.

But in the long run, the man might end up being a worthless investment. Melinda could see that, as in many corporations and government agencies, it was the middleman who was truly in control of the information flow and Merrick would be providing an effective blockage to prevent that information from ever reaching Donaldson, and in return, her. Melinda needed someone else, a person within the ranks that was interested in getting out of them- somebody who had the low moral fiber that would allow him to sell out a fellow agent for his own advancement.

By the honest appearance of the men and women she had met briefly that day, Melinda had found it unpleasantly surprising to discover the task was not going to be as easy as it first appeared.

"Well," Merrick coughed, "we have all available men looking for your…uh, son. Road blocks were set up around the greater Los Angeles area and notification of the kidnapping sent out over the wires, so to speak. At this point though, finding him doesn't seem likely."

"I am sure," Melinda smiled her best, "that you are doing all that you can."

"Yes, quite."

"And if you don't find him tonight?"

"Normally we would put his name and face on our missing persons list, notify other field offices to keep on the look out- and then begin a waiting game."

"Until someone called in a tip, right?" Melinda said softly.

"Yes, that is the normal protocol in a kidnapping case of this sort. Really, it is more a custody battle than anything else."

"But legally, my son is still an officer of the US government, is he not?"

"Yes," Merrick sighed, "yes, he is. With that in mind, we have decided to put a team on this case- their sole job will be to look for Don, no matter where in the country he may be sighted."

"I think that would be better."

Merrick smiled at the woman through gritted teeth. He hated having her in his office. His opinion was that of so many others- the woman was evil, pure and simple. Despite that obvious fact, Merrick thought angrily, she was still able to manipulate important and powerful people-ones who should know better- into meeting her demands.

Such as the way they were conducting this case.

Sure, Don was _technically _a part of the Bureau, but Merrick felt it really was more sensible to describe the situation as a matter of a custody dispute between two parents rather than some enemy of the United States having taken one of its agents. He had met the Eppes before, seen the math professor at work, and found it laughable that anyone could view either mild-mannered man as potentially dangerous, especially to Don.

So Merrick had tried to get Donaldson to view it as a custody case with the hopes that the whole hoopla they were making about an agent disappearing- well, it would disappear itself. Then the Bureau would do just as Merrick had explained to Thompson; they would send out kidnapping notices to the other field offices-along with thousands of others- and do nothing else until a sighting of the family occurred, at which time a local agent would research the tip. Usually, that investigation never panned out and the people for whom they were searching remained in hiding, often forever, or at least until the child was an adult. Since Don was already grown, Merrick hoped the Eppes would remain hidden until his memory came back. Or forever, whichever was necessary to keep Don out of that bitch's hands. Thus, Merrick knew that running the case as a custody dispute was the best way for the Eppes to keep Don safe.

But Donaldson had decided different.

Somehow, the woman had managed to abuse and ruin his best agent, a good man, yet was still able to get the director of the FBI to bend to her every whim, including assigning federal agents from their office to work specifically on this case; to spend all of their valuable time looking to retrieve said best agent and bring him back on a silver platter into her possession.

With all that power at her beck and call, no wonder the woman smiled all the time.

Well, Merrick had a reason to smile, too. He called to his secretary. "Ms. Larson, please send in the team assigned to the Eppes kidnapping case."

Melinda turned expectantly towards the door. Maybe she would be able to persuade these men to report any sightings of her son to her before they informed their director.

Merrick leaned back, enjoying how Thompson's face fell when Colby and David walked into the room. "Dr. Thompson, you may remember Agents Granger and Sinclair. They were so effective in finding your son the first time he went missing that I thought it made the most sense to assign them to find him this second time."

Melinda easily regained her composure. Of course it made sense- to Merrick. The man knew her son's former colleagues would do anything to keep him from her so assigning them to the case was a clever move. With that woman leading them, they would probably spend…wait, she thought, where is Agent Reeves? A sudden realization came to Melinda. She rubbed at her sore chin, a flash of anger sparking in her eyes as she suddenly knew who had hit her.

When first waking up, Melinda had replayed the previous night in her mind, over and over again- from when she first found the Eppes trying to steal her son until the moment she was about to fire the gun at the older one. Then- everything was blank until she woke up hours later. She had first thought that somehow one of the Eppes had managed to sneak up on her and knock her out, but she had not been able to figure how that was possible. Now, seeing that one of Don's team members was missing, she thought about the previous night's events again. The Eppes were there, in front of her, in the midst of snatching her son, when…Yes, Melinda decided. Someone else must have come at her from behind. She wished she had thought of that when the police and the FBI had interviewed her. As it was, she had told them that only the Eppes were there, and now it was too late to pinpoint it on the obvious suspect, Agent Reeves.

"Nice to meet you again," David held out a hand to her. Melinda took it and gently shook it.

"Yes, I remember you," she said politely, "last time we met you were breaking down my door."

"I don't recall breaking anything, madam," David smoothly replied, "but if I'm mistaken, please tell your insurance company to contact us. We'll make good on any damage- providing, of course, that you have proof."

Colby smirked beside him.

Merrick was enjoying the interchange so much he missed the sound of a clicking tongue until Agent Jerry Atwater had snuck up behind Colby and David, taking position between them. "Reporting for duty, sir."

Colby and David silently groaned. Merrick sat forward, a frown on his face. "Atwater, what are you doing here? I thought you were stuck, uh, were busy working on that committee?"

"Director Donaldson called me direct, sir, and requested I retake my position as team leader. He said he wanted to be certain that this current kidnapping investigation was conducted successfully."

Atwater looked at Melinda and nodded his head. "Ma'am."

Melinda grinned. Here was her man of loose moral fiber; she was certain that she could recognize her own kind. Standing, she moved around Colby and David, giving them her own winning smirk, sidled up to Atwater and put her arm through his.

"I am so glad to have such a commanding presence in charge of this investigation."

"Thank you," Atwater beamed.

Melinda began guiding him out the door, the furious glares of Merrick, Colby, and David burning holes into the backs of their heads.

"I do believe," Melinda purred, "That you look like a man consumed with the ambition to succeed. I'm correct, am I not?"

"Well, actually," Atwater began to explain as they headed down the hall, click-clicks accenting every other word that he said.

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They drove on the highway until the traffic began to barely slow, Jeb speaking into his microphone that they were getting off and to continue to follow his lead. Megan was appreciative of the old man's instinct- looking to her left, ten minutes later she saw a roadblock was set up on the highway, two miles ahead of the off-ramp they had taken. They took side streets for an hour until Jeb decided to risk the highway once again.

They went back and forth like this until they were almost to Silver City. Twice they couldn't get to an off-ramp before they detected traffic was stopping and had to go through a roadblock. Each time, they listened as Jeb grumbled at the cops, griping about the mistreatment of war veterans, whining in pain when the one of them moved as if he planned to look at each rider individually, then bringing the attention of a second concerned law officer back to him with loud exclamations that his legs were getting numb and if they became stiff the officer would be responsible to take him back home- all the way to Baja.

Both times, they were quickly sent on their way.

At the turn off to Silver City, the entire group of people let loose a unified sigh of relief.

They rode up to the gates of McHugh's land sometime around four in the morning, Edgarton stealing from out of the shadows to open it and let them enter, sealing it behind them once they were inside.

At the cabin, Alan, Charlie, and Megan climbed from their seats, groaning as they stretched their limbs and walked their blood into circulating, Charlie checking on Don and giving a nod to the others when he was satisfied his brother had made the trip without further damage to his back.

Ian greeted them, his arms across his chest. "Quite an escort you have here."

The veterans grumbled something at him, Jeb asking, "Got somewhere we can pitch a tent."

"If you want to share the cabin," Alan began to offer.

"Came to camp, not sit in a cabin," another man barked, "leastways there's plenty of land fer us to do that."

Ian pointed to a spot nearby. "Land's level there, plenty of water in a stream a few hundred feet beyond those trees, an outhouse over there to your left; there's already a fire pit in place, good area for camping."

The men nodded and started forward, ignoring Charlie and Alan's attempts to thank them.

"Ornery bunch of men," Ian grinned.

"Had to be in order to save us," Alan said, "got us through two roadblocks, around all the others. Good men, all of them."

While the other two men talked, Megan joining in, Charlie went to the cabin and stepped inside. He noted that McHugh's wife _had _modernized the cabin- there was electricity, running water, and a full-size bathroom. Most of the cabin was still a single, open room, with a kitchen to the left, a living room area to the right with a fireplace, and a large queen bed against the far wall in front of him.

Edgarton came up behind Charlie. "Stove works without having to light it." He entered the cabin. "I set up a cot over here in the corner, and I put some blankets on the couch. Figure two of you can sleep in the bed. Oh, and there's a satellite out back- most times, you can get over five hundred channels, so you won't be bored till Cooper calls you."

"Thanks, Ian," Charlie told him warmly, "this is more than we expected."

"No problem."

Alan came up the cabin stairs with Don leaning on his shoulder. Charlie quickly rushed to them and slipped under Don's other arm, the three men slowly moving inside. "The bed's across the room," Charlie said. When they got there, they lowered Don down and laid him on his back. Then they all spent the next twenty minutes unloading the small trailers hitched to the back of the motorcycles.

When finished, Alan looked at Edgarton and Megan. "A little privacy, if you don't mind."

"Oh, sure," they replied, heading back outside and shutting the door behind them. Megan walked over to the porch banister and leaned against it, staring across the land to a newly built fire just starting to blaze.

"What gives?" Edgerton said from the dark nearby. Megan shifted uncomfortably.

"What do you mean?"

Edgerton moved to stand directly beside her; he was so quiet she wasn't aware he was next to her until he spoke again.

"Why are you here, Agent Reeves?"

Megan smiled. "The same as you- to help."

"So you'll be leaving when I do?"

When she didn't reply, Edgerton moved down the banister and leaned on his arm cockily, a smirk playing on his lips. "Didn't think so."

"Charlie and Alan aren't up to this kind of thing," she tried to explain. Her cheeks were hot from embarrassment.

"Seem to be doing alright to me."

"Well, they might appear to be doing okay right now. But they're really naïve. I don't know how well they're going to do when they realize all the laws they're going to be breaking. I worry that they'll try to take the high road…"

"And that'll lead them to trouble?"

"Yeah, with a capital T."

"Well, you know, I could stick with them for a while. At least until they get settled."

"No," Megan replied quicker than she'd wanted, "uh, that's alright. I'm going to be on a wanted poster myself pretty soon, so there's no reason for us to both get into trouble."

"Ah, now I see…" Edgerton said thoughtfully.

"What?" Megan turned to him, crossing her arms.

"The Bureau grapevine says that woman…"

"Dr. Thompson?"

"She's the one that kidnapped Don, right?"

"Yes." Megan nodded her head. "She's the one we're hiding from."

"Well, last night she called the police and reported that the Eppes had attacked her and stolen Don away. Later, when Bureau had her flown into the LA offices, she told the exact same story there."

"She's telling the truth," Megan said, "But you know that already. I mean, I'm assuming Billy Cooper had to have told you _something _about why we needed to disappear."

Edgerton shrugged. "When I asked, he just told me Don and his family needed to hide. Everything else I know…well, let's just say I have some very good sources."

"And these sources told you…?"

"A lot of things, but the most recent info I have is that Dr. Thompson's description of her attack doesn't make sense- sounds like a third person had to be there besides the Eppes. But every time she tells her story, she only mentions them and herself."

"Oh," Megan said thoughtfully. "So she doesn't mention me?"

"No, she doesn't. I'm assuming you're the person who cold-cocked her?"

"Oh, yeah." Megan flexed her right fist, grinning. "Nothing's ever felt that good."

"Must have been some punch if she doesn't even remember who hit her." Megan's smile broadened slightly but fell immediately with Edgerton's next words, "Guess there's really no reason for you to be here, then, huh?"

Megan realized he was right. If Thompson couldn't ID her as one of the kidnappers, then Megan could go back home and pretend nothing had happened. Except…

"Tell me Reeves, what are really doing here?"

She silently cursed the man and his intuition. Defiantly, she stared him down. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Huh, that's the same thing Don told me last year."

"Last year?"

"When you were kidnapped. He ever tell you what he had me do to that young perp? You know, Crystal Hoyt's teenage boyfriend?"

Megan shook her head slowly.

"Well," Edgerton said, peering at her intently so he could read her reaction, "He sent me in to do that witness over. And I did- real good. Didn't leave a mark on him."

Megan was stunned. "No, Don would never allow you to do something like that."

"Yeah, I thought so, too. When I asked him about it, you know, why you were so important to him, he said he didn't know what I was talking about. As far as he was concerned, you were just one of his men and he was trying to save you at all cost. Said he would've done it for David and Colby, too. Only…"

"Only what?"

Suddenly, the door to the cabin flew open and Charlie stood there, waving them back inside. "All finished." As Edgerton stepped forward, Megan grabbed his arm and demanded in a whisper, "Only what?"

"Only," Edgerton replied with a grin, "my instinct tells me different." With that cryptic statement, he pulled away from her and went inside. Megan followed, thoroughly confused; but also a little elated.

"There's food in the fridge," Edgerton was telling the Eppes. As he described the last of their amenities, he slowly made his way to the bed at the far side of the room. Don was sleeping under the covers, sucking his thumb and curled in a ball, Buddy against his chest. "Shame," Edgerton quietly observed, "what one body can do to another. Still have no idea how she did this?'

"No," Alan said, "we still don't know what the hell she did to him. At least, how she damaged his brain. You familiar with everything that's happened?"

"Yes. When my friends contacted me about helping you out, I pulled up Don's files." With an ominous expression, Edgerton faced Alan. "Even read the probate hearings. Incredible how our court systems work- or rather, how they don't work."

"That's why we're here," Charlie pointed out. "We didn't have any other choice."

"I think you're right," Edgerton agreed, "but I hope you know what you're getting yourselves into. For me, working and living outside the constraints of the law is a part of my life- has been for some time now. I don't know if any of you are cut out for it, cause trust me, it'll be harder than you think."

Charlie, Alan and Megan set their eyes on Don. "Sometimes," Charlie replied, "you just need the right motivation."

Edgerton nodded in understanding, then he walked away, heading to the door. "If you need anything, contact me through Billy. Got a case going on not too far from here, so I should be able to get to you without any problems. When the time's right, I'll get you out of here, too, without anyone being the wiser."

Alan stepped forward and grasped his hand in a firm grip. "Thank you. It's good to know my boys have friends like you."

Edgarton stared him straight in the eyes. "They have more than you think." He gave them a short salute and strode out the door, Alan shutting and locking it behind him.

"I think," he said with a yawn, "that maybe we should get some sleep."

"I'll take first watch," Charlie volunteered.

"Are you sure that's really necessary?" Megan asked. "I think we're safe enough here."

"I don't know." Charlie looked to Alan.

"I think if Edgerton thinks this place is safe, we should trust him."

"Okay," Charlie relented. Exhausted, sleep definitely sounded better than sitting up the rest of the night.

They took turns cleaning themselves up in the bathroom. Afterwards, Megan looked around the main living quarters. "I guess I can sleep on the couch. You'll have to decide who gets to share the…" She stopped mid-sentence, sinking down onto the cot instead when she realized Charlie and Alan were both planning to sleep with Don.

"Are you going to be comfortable doing that? You know one of you could sleep on the cot."

"Don't worry," Charlie smiled, "we have this down pat."

Megan returned the smile, watching as they put a pillow along Don's lower back and then gently wrapped the top sheet around him, Alan crawling in bed behind him and draping his arm over his chest, Charlie slipping in front and pulling the covers over all of them, Don wiggling in his sleep until he was nestled comfortably in their arms.

"Can you get the light?" Charlie whispered across the room, Alan already fast asleep.

"Sure." Megan walked across the room to the switch, but hesitated before flicking it. She took one last look at Charlie and Alan cuddled against Don, Buddy in the midst of them all.

Edgerton had been right; she didn't need to be here. At least, not technically. But she loved all three men that were lying in the bed before her. They were family, more so than hers had ever been. That alone was reason enough for her to stay with them, to want to keep an eye on them, to keep them safe.

Megan shut off the light and slipped over to the cot, lying with an arm thrown across her forehead.

But there was that other reason, the one that nagged at her heart and wouldn't let her go.

That was what drove her, made her hand feel good whenever she thought about knocking out that woman, helped her fall asleep while she thought over what Edgerton had told her, how he had implied that Don had once had feelings for her, similar to the ones she was having for him now.

She wondered if Edgerton's instincts were right.


End file.
